TVD - Season 6 - Rewritten - Part 2
by Hooligunz Mind
Summary: The following chapters are a reimagining of Season 6 of The Vampire Diaries. All mythologies and canon elements established throughout Season 6 and beyond on television do not apply to this version of events. These events take place after the Season 5 finale. With the fall of the Other Side, another world with restless spirits seek to invade the quiet town of Mystic Falls.
1. TVD S6 - Part 2 Ch1

_TVD SEASON 6 – THE SOVEREIGNTY SAGA_

 _The following chapters are a reimagining of Season 6 of The Vampire Diaries. All mythologies and canon elements established throughout Season 6 and beyond on television do not apply to this version of events. These events take place after the Season 5 finale._

" **The kind of magic my mother practiced…it's unnatural. Witches don't even call it magic. We call it Expression. Channelling the power of human sacrifices calls on darkness that can't exist on this plane without swallowing it whole!" – Nandi LaMarche**

PART 2

 _Love Immortal_

Qetsiyah poured the pig's blood into the clay cup, mixing it together with the blood of a serpent, the blood of a young virgin, and the dust from a meteorite that fell from the sky that her people took as a piece of the eternal _protogenoi_ Uranus, the Greek primordial deity of the heavens above. Murmuring an incantation in Aramaic under her breath, the cup slowly began to rise and levitate over the fire. Qetsiyah remained seated cross-legged as she closed her eyes while the blood mixed together along with the dust, coming to a boil as she murmured the incantation more intensely, beads of sweat cascading down her mocha-coloured skin.

Finally, she opened her eyes and stood up, grabbing the cup from out of the air. Despite the boiling of the blood, the cup itself was as cold as ice. Qetsiyah raised the cup to her nose, smelling it to ensure that all the contents had been mixed together successfully.

"Is it ready?" asked a young man, dressed in a dark green toga, as he burst into her tent. "The High Cleric is becoming impatient."

"And I am becoming impatient with his impatience…that old fool can wait!" Qetsiyah snapped as Silas approached. Her long, wavy raven black hair cascaded over her face and reached her shoulders, hiding the straps of the white frock that she wore. The curtain of hair also helped to hide the irritation that was painted all over her face.

Silas stood in front of her and parted her hair away. He placed his finger under her chin and gently lifted her head so that she was looking at him, staring into her large, dark brown eyes. "Listen, we're in this together, remember? My life rests on this as well as yours. Once you do this, we can be together forever!"

She marvelled at how utterly calming looking into her beloved's face was, with his flawless almond-milk coloured skin, masculine square jaw and thick eyebrows that would help to accentuate his emotions towards her. The irritation melted away as Qetsiyah stared back into Silas' greenish-blue eyes. She ran her hand through his lush brown, slightly curly hair.

"I'm sorry, my love," she replied, exhaling. "I'm so tired. This is the third time we've been tasked with this spell, and I don't see how it's going to be different this time around."

Silas grabbed the cup and stared into it, swirling the thick blood mixture around. "I don't get why it's not working. The gods themselves guided us with this spell."

Qetsiyah turned away in disgust. "Humph! The gods! If they were so powerful, they would cast the spell themselves and be done with it. Or have the High Cleric do it."

"Be careful, beloved," Silas warned. "They are already displeased with you for your journey to the East to see that Nazarene prophet."

She raised an eyebrow as she looked away. "I had to see what all the fuss was about. The stories that were told of him—the magic he wielded—the rumour that he expelled one of our own gods out of a devoted follower? So many of our friends left the coven to join his cult. He piqued my curiosity. If such a man exists, then he should be greater than the gods!" She shook her head as she recalled her journey to Jerusalem. "I arrived just in time to see him be arrested and then put to death. How remarkable of a man could he be if the Roman governor could easily order his execution to appease the locals?"

"I don't know," Silas answered. "What I do know is that your trip almost cost both of us our lives. The High Cleric thought you a defector like the others. He was softened only by my mentioning of our spell for immortality. Otherwise, we might have been the next ones on the sacrificial altar. And we still might be if we don't get this spell right."

Qetsiyah shook her head at him. "I can't believe you told him. You wanted me to do this spell for us!"

"You know how he is," Silas replied. "I did it to protect you!"

Qetsiyah sighed as she walked over to Silas. She hugged him while burying her head in his shoulder. "Oh, Silas! I can't wait until this is all over. When we are married, we will finally—"

"Be happy and together. How quaint!" said a deep but hoarse voice.

Silas and Qetsiyah startled as an old man entered the tent. He was tall and lanky, standing about a foot taller than Silas. With a clean shaven face and thinning white hair that was slicked back, he approached them dressed in a black cloak with the hood pulled back, with peculiar writings sewn all along the hem. Aside from his imposing height was his white skin that was incredibly pale; not so pale as though there was no life to it, but as though he was sick, stricken with some kind of disease that robbed him of the colour of vitality. It helped to accentuate the age spots that were prevalent over his hands and face that made him look all the more elderly. However, the appearance was highly deceiving as he was incredibly agile and robust for a man of his advanced age.

"My lord!" Qetsiyah blurted as both she and Silas went to one knee as the High Cleric approached them.

"Rise," commanded the High Cleric.

Qetsiyah and Silas rose up. She took the cup from Silas and respectfully offered it to the High Cleric.

"So, will it work this time?" the High Cleric asked as he took the cup.

"I am confident we—"

"We are losing confidence in your confidence, Qetsiyah!" the High Cleric interjected.

Qetsiyah bit her lip and clenched her hands as she looked down from having her own phrasing volleyed back to her. She hated when he did that, when he would infer about things as though he had knowledge about them but would never directly admit that he did. It kept her on edge, not knowing if he somehow knew her clandestine plans, if he could read her thoughts, if he could hear her faintest whispers that she had said under her breath when she thought she was alone. It frustrated her that she did not know because he was so inconsistent with such revelations. It seemed at times as though he did know, and at other times, he did not. Though he was a powerful warlock in his own right and both she and Silas had learned much under his tutelage, there were still secrets to his power that she did not understand.

She looked up and locked eyes with him, but only for a brief moment as she felt forced to turn her gaze away as she would if she were trying to look directly at the sun. She hated his eyes. On the surface, there was nothing extraordinary about them. They were dark brown, almost black, sunken deeper within the eye socket so that he almost looked like a skull with eyes. They were framed with the paleness of his skin, interrupted by dark patches under the eye, typical of someone that looked like they didn't get enough sleep.

But when she stared deeper into his eyes, she couldn't help but get a sense of nothing being there. It was like looking into the eyes of a statue, knowing that nothing was behind them but cold rock. His eyes conveyed the same sensation, as though there was nothing to signify a human being was looking back at her—no joy, no pain, no love, no concern, no apathy and no humanity. There was nothing but a seeming emptiness—a void. Having looked into the eyes of her beloved just moments before, the contrast was jarring.

"We have a volunteer waiting to be reborn as an immortal. Come!" the High Cleric ordered, turning swiftly on his heel and out the tent. Silas and Qetsiyah looked at each other, held the other's hand while they both breathed in deeply and followed.

The night sky was clear, the air crisp yet warm, the almost full moon and bright stars providing a supplementary light to the dark ceremony about to take place. The High Cleric led them to an open garden where more of their coven, some carrying torches, stood together in a circle. All of them kept a fair distance from a skinny, dishevelled young man who was kneeling at the center. He was dressed in rags that barely covered his body, with parts of his exposed white skin cracked and red. His thick, black hair was thinning and falling out, both on his head and his beard. He struggled to stay upright, quivering and coughing as he babbled a prayer under his breath, his right arm cradled against his chest, the hand deformed into a petrified claw. His left eye was bloated and red, blind and infected beyond healing. Lesions covered his face, arms and legs, the effects of leprosy having taken its toll on him.

"Acolytes, behold! This is the reward you have waited for," hollered the High Cleric to the crowd. "Your devotion, your sacrifices, your faith has come to this. Though the gods have bestowed upon you the gifts of magic and the power to control Nature itself, it was not enough, was it?! You wanted more! You dared ask for more! Ungrateful pieces of excrement!"

The High Cleric became animated as he scanned the crowd, his face twisting into a mask of animosity and disgust. "The gods granted you power over those who followed other gods, and all they asked was a pittance of a sacrifice to show your appreciation and loyalty. This sacrifice apparently proved too much for some of you. Some of the unfaithful have left, believing in the rumours and stories of a man of the East who heals the sick and promises eternal life. I ask you—where is this man? What has become of him?"

He spun around and pointed towards Qetsiyah.

"DEATH!"

Qetsiyah recoiled, unsure as to why he was pointing at her or what he was implying.

The High Cleric turned his attention back to the multitude. "Death consumed him! She saw it herself. She is a witness to his demise. All those who left us to follow him will now see death too. But you? Your faith will be rewarded. You have asked the gods for more, and in their mercy, they saw it fit to bestow more upon you, though you are hardly worthy! The Rings of Ambrosia were but a small demonstration of the power that they seek to grant upon you all. Here…now…witness the gift of immortality. Witness the gift of supreme health. Witness the gift of Akhkharu!"

The High Cleric approached the leper. He grabbed him by the hair to tilt his head back. Silas squirmed in his place as he watched the High Cleric physically touch the diseased man, amazed at his complete lack of fear. However, it was not the first time he had witnessed the High Cleric do such a thing and wondered how he could touch those infected with the disease and not be afraid to become infected himself, as so many others had done before him.

The man with leprosy quivered as he looked up at the High Cleric. "I am—*cough*—ready. Save me from this death."

The High Cleric smirked as he poured the blood mixture into the man's mouth. The man began to choke and coughed up some of the blood.

"Maggot…DRINK!" commanded the High Cleric, gritting his teeth and widening his eyes.

The man forced himself to drink the rest of the mixture. When it was all gone, the man remained kneeling, wiping the blood off his mouth while trying to catch his breath.

The High Cleric took out a small dagger from under his cloak and held it up high. "To defy the god of death, one must see him first and defy him to his face!"

He put the blade to the leper's neck and sliced deep. The leper's eyes bulged out as he warbled and hacked, grasping at his throat as blood flowed from the cut like a waterfall. He gasped a final breath and keeled over face first onto the ground, his blood pooling and expanding beneath him, his body lifeless and still.

The onlookers whispered in shock amongst themselves, pointing to the man as the High Cleric wiped the blade with a cloth while he circled the fresh corpse. As he continued to circle, with his head facing down at the leper, his eyes looked up and glared at Qetsiyah. She steeled herself and nodded in affirmation, indicating that the spell indeed was going to work this time.

After the High Cleric completed a third orbit, the lifeless man's hand started to twitch. It then began flexing, grasping at the earth. Soon the other hand that had been crippled and deformed by leprosy reached out with full function. The devout followers gasped and murmured in astonishment as the man pushed himself off the ground.

The lesions were gone. Both his eyes were normal and healthy. His hair became lush and full again. The cut on his throat had completely healed. The new akhkharu appeared revitalized and potent.

"How do you feel?" the High Cleric asked him.

He looked down at his hands as he clenched them. "I feel…strong! Powerful!"

He lifted his eyes and began looking around at all the bystanders. "I—I can hear…everything! I can hear your hearts beating."

He looked up into the night sky. "I can hear the night—the beasts and the fowl and the heart of Gaia herself!"

The akhkharu closed his eyes and breathed in deep through his nose. His eyes shuttered open as his face contorted to an expression of repugnance. "I can smell your filth. I can smell your sweat. I can smell—"

His face smoothed over and his brows relaxed as he slowly turned his attention to a woman in the crowd. He started breathing heavily as his eyes half closed and his hands twitched, his senses becoming enraptured in the new, intoxicating scent that he had picked up. The whites of his eyes became red-shot while the outside of his eyes became framed by a black and veiny mask.

In the span of a second, the akhkharu had run to the High Cleric and swiped the dagger from his hand and then appeared in front of the woman. She looked up at him in horror as he stood in front of her, gripping the dagger in his hand, his monster eyes wide and staring intently at her body, his tongue slurping in and out of his mouth like some rabid dog desperate for something to eat. She put her hands up defensively and backed away. She then turned to run but was grabbed by the akhkharu who pulled her back towards him.

 _Don't move. Please, don't move._

He thought the command. He was breathing so hard and the smell in his nostrils was so intense that it robbed him of his ability to say the words out loud. But nevertheless, he thought them. He projected them out towards his intended victim and to his amazement, she stopped moving. She remained in her place, looking at him with frightened eyes, unsure as to what he was going to do or why she felt compelled to remain motionless.

He looked over her frock-covered body, from her breasts to her navel to her waist to her loins. He realized that she was menstruating, and it was there that he had picked up the scent. His eyes roamed back up to her face and then to her neck. He picked up her heartbeat, beating at a tempo that rivaled the hooves of a galloping horse. He looked at her jugular vein, sensing the strong current of blood streaming through the soft, fleshy tube.

In an instant, the akhkharu ran the dagger in his hand through her neck. It was with such speed and force that the hilt rammed against her flesh, the tip of the blade suddenly appearing on the other side of her neck. The woman gulped and gurgled as she tried to scream but couldn't, as she tried to raise her hands up to defend herself but couldn't, as she tried to run away but couldn't.

The onlookers beside her gasped in horror as they stepped back, watching as the man pulled the blade out from the woman's neck, blood immediately squirting out like wine from a punctured wineskin. The akhkharu opened his mouth over the wound, sucking and drinking the blood that spurted out. He grasped the back of her head to stabilize it, while he dropped the knife and wrapped his arms around her waist. At a distance, it looked like a lover embracing his beloved, erotically nibbling on her neck. In reality, it was a newly-born, undead abomination dreadfully draining the life of his first victim, lapping and stabbing at the bloody gash with his tongue to increase the euphoric nourishment that had enraptured him while the woman's tear-filled eyes slowly closed, her lungs gasping a final breath, death quickly overtaking her.

The High Cleric smiled as Qetsiyah bowed her head, still unsure that the spell was the success that it appeared to be.

The akhkharu pulled his head away from the woman's neck and let go of her, allowing her dead body to drop to the ground. He wiped his mouth with his arm and licked the blood that was smeared there. He bent down to pick up the dagger and ran over to the High Cleric in the blink of an eye and stood in front of him.

"My lord," the akhkharu said, bowing his head while offering the handle of the blade to him.

The High Cleric took the blade in his one hand while he put his other hand on the akhkharu's shoulder and addressed the crowd of astonished and frightened onlookers.

"Do you see now, the power of your gods? To restore life and power to this once dead man? This is the glory that awaits you all. But understand that such a power comes with even more sacrifice. Your children's lives are not enough anymore. Now, you must—"

The High Cleric's oration was interrupted by the sudden choking and coughing coming from the akhkharu. He abruptly bent over, grasping at his stomach as he snorted out blood from his nostrils and spit out blood from his mouth.

"Wha—what is happ—en—ing—" the man cried out.

He stood erect again and started to convulse and shake as though electrical currents were running through him. Additional blood began streaming from his eyes and his ears. His body cramped up and stiffened, with his arms bent and his hands open but clutched. New lesions began to open over his body with blood and puss oozing out. He continued to hack and snort and warble up blood from his mouth and nose as he looked to the High Cleric with pleading eyes and then looked to the crowd for any kind of help. A final gurgling sound emanated from him as he finally stopped convulsing and stood perfectly still, eventually teetering over onto the ground like a falling tree in the forest. His entire body lay stiff like a fallen statue, with his arms still bent, his eyes and mouth still open. Blood continued to trickle out from every orifice on his face.

The High Cleric bent down and examined the man. He touched his skin and felt the familiar cold sensation of death. The High Cleric gritted his teeth as he stabbed the dagger into the side of the deceased akhkharu.

"LEAVE! ALL OF YOU!" the High Cleric yelled, standing up to berate the crowd. "PREPARE MORE CHILDREN FOR THE SACRIFICE! YOUR GODS MUST BE APPEASED FOR YOUR PATHETIC LACK OF FAITH! THIS FAILURE IS ON YOUR HEADS!"

The crowd dispersed in a panic as the High Cleric looked down at the corpse. Silas and Qetsiyah looked nervously at each other as they prepared to leave as well.

" _Phasmatos Motus Robix!_ " the High Cleric angrily spit out as he spun around and outstretched his right hand towards Qetsiyah.

Qetsiyah felt herself being lifted off the ground and telekinetically pulled towards the High Cleric. She flew rapidly through the air until her neck was in the High Cleric's clutch.

"I grow weary of your failures, my dear Qetsiyah!" he moaned in a low and bitter voice as he gnashed his teeth, his grip around Qetsiyah's throat slowly increasing in power.

"My—*ack*—lord—I—*ack*"

Silas watched from afar as Qetsiyah struggled against the High Cleric's grip, eventually falling to her knees. He contemplated for a moment about turning away and leaving her since to interfere meant potential death for him too. But he realized that he needed her. If she died, then it fell on him to complete the Akhkharu Spell. Despite his advanced abilities in magic, she was far more adept at spells than he was and he knew he could not complete the spell without her. He rushed over to Qetsiyah and the High Cleric and tried to temper his rage.

"My lord! Please! We will fix the spell. We can fix it!" Silas pleaded as he tried to reason with the High Cleric.

The High Cleric's face was expressionless, with no indication whatsoever that he was listening to anything Silas was saying. His eyes didn't blink and his breathing seemed to slow to a crawl.

Silas looked at Qetsiyah and saw her eyes roll back into her head. He realized her time was short and so he spontaneously grabbed at the High Cleric's forearm. It was practically bone and skin, with very little muscle or fat to hide the greenish blue veins circulating around the arm, so Silas assumed he could move it easily. But when he tried to pull the arm away from Qetsiyah's throat, it seemed to be as hard and as impossible to move as a slab of marble. Despite Silas being at least 70 years younger than the High Cleric, all his youthful strength and power could not make the High Cleric's arm budge in the slightest.

 _How is this possible? The spell he cast, it wouldn't make him this strong!_

He grew desperate and thought of performing a spell of his own to break the High Cleric's hold. But he debated on which one he should use, since to use an attack spell would be regarded as that—an attack. To attack the High Cleric meant death, if not by the High Cleric himself, then by the other acolytes. Though a spell to kill him instantly would be sufficient, he and Qetsiyah would immediately become fugitives, which he did not want to become—at least not with Qetsiyah by his side.

Silas continued to struggle desperately with the High Cleric's grip. "Please! We need more time. The spell is incredibly difficult and we need a greater power source." His eyes darted from side to side as he tried to think of something to convince the High Cleric. "The darkening of the moon! It is coming in a few days. We can use that as a source of power. That should be sufficient to complete the spell. Please, my lord!"

The High Cleric slowly blinked as he loosened his grip. Qetsiyah slipped from his grasp and crumpled onto the ground, barely conscious, wheezing and coughing as she clutched at her throat.

Silas sighed in relief as the High Cleric turned to him.

"Thank you, my lord. As I said, we—"

"Do not take this act of mercy with ease, Silas!" the High Cleric scolded. "Since I have agreed to abide by certain…restrictions…in this matter, I have no choice but to leave this spell to you to complete. You and Qetsiyah are the most adept of the acolytes and you will be rewarded greatly for your success. But those restrictions do not include sparing your lives if your incompetence becomes intolerable. If you cannot complete it, then I will find others who can. And I will see to it that Qetsiyah suffers unimaginably before your eyes before I execute her and you as well!"

The High Cleric grabbed the hood of his cloak and lifted it over his head to where his entire face became hidden in shadow. He leaned in close to Silas' ear and began to whisper in a voice that suddenly wasn't his own. It was a voice that sounded as both male and female, young and old, as both serious and amused. It was unlike anything Silas had ever heard before.

"And if Qetsiyah's suffering does not stir you, perhaps the suffering of a lovely, young handmaiden will!"

Silas faintly shivered at both the revelation the High Cleric had dropped on him and the way he had delivered it. He looked at the High Cleric, and though he could no longer see his face, he was sure he was smiling at him.

The High Cleric turned and walked away. Silas remained motionless and waited until he was a fair distance away before kneeling down and attending to Qetsiyah.

"Are you alright?" he softly asked her.

Murmuring a healing spell under her breath, Qetsiyah stood up with Silas' help. She breathed in deeply and with watery eyes, stared as the High Cleric walked completely out of sight.

"I'm done with this!" she exclaimed with her lip snarling, her eyebrows furrowed as she rubbed her neck.

She turned and began marching back to her tent. Silas quickly followed and caught up to her.

"Qetsiyah! I bought us some more time. We have until the moon's darkening to figure out what is wrong with this spell. If we don't, we're ruined!"

"I already know what is wrong with the spell! Ever since the first time we cast it, I've had my suspicions," Qetsiyah said, resolute and focused. "This last failure only confirmed it. Nature will not allow something so powerful and immortal to live in the flesh. The powers must be lessened. There must be a balance."

"So which powers do we lessen? There's so much that we can—"

"I've already figured that out and have a different spell ready to be cast."

Silas stopped walking and grabbed Qetsiyah by the arm, spinning her around and bringing her in close. "You what?"

Qetsiyah's determined attitude diminished into a soft plea.

"I'm sorry, my love," she replied, "I—"

"You have a spell that will work and you didn't tell me?"

"I wanted to," she beseeched, placing her hand on Silas' chest. "But the High Cleric seems to know every secret we keep that I couldn't risk him finding out."

"But why even keep it from him? It's what he has asked for. It would save both of our lives?"

Qetsiyah pushed Silas away in revulsion. "And let that withered old mule reap the benefits of our hard work, only for him to kill us afterwards?!"

She closed her eyes as she regained her composure. Her expression softened as she once again drew closer to Silas. "I did it for us like you had asked. WE will be the sole recipients of the Immortality Spell. WE will be the ones to live forever! Our love will never die!"

Silas looked away as he absorbed Qetsiyah's words. She looked at his pondering face and mistook it for anger. She wrapped her arms around him and laid her head on his shoulders, closing her eyes. "Forgive me, my love. I wanted it to be a surprise. A wedding gift! Once we become immortal, we won't have to worry about the High Cleric or the gods or anyone doing anything to us ever again. What can they do to those who cannot die?"

A young woman dressed in a simple, purple garb with a veil slightly covering her long, chestnut brown hair, approached them on the road carrying a torch. She bowed her head towards Qetsiyah, who had her back to her.

"I've completed my tasks for the evening, my lady. Is there anything more that you require?" she meekly asked.

Qetsiyah let out an annoyed sigh, with her eyes still closed and her head still on Silas' shoulder, before answering her handmaiden. "No, Amara. That is all for tonight. You may go now."

Amara kept her head bowed but looked up at Silas. He looked at her over Qetsiyah's head, locking his gaze to Amara's dark, brown eyes. They both coyly smiled at each other, exchanging an unspoken message of lust and love that no one else could hear. Their silent communication was interrupted by Qetsiyah's stirring. She opened her eyes and noticed that Amara had not left.

"I said leave, Amara!" Qetsiyah commanded.

"Yes, my lady. My apologies," Amara sheepishly replied, bowing her head. She looked at Silas a final time and flashed a grin before turning around and walking away.

"You shouldn't be so hard on her, beloved," Silas said as he watched Amara's torch disappear into the night while still embracing Qetsiyah. "After all, during those months that you were gone, she attended to all your affairs quite admirably."

Qetsiyah pulled her head back from Silas' shoulder and stared at him. "What does that mean?"

"Nothing!" Silas said, smiling nervously. "It's just that she never neglected any of her duties despite your absence. That's something to be appreciated, no?"

Her eyes looked down and away, seemingly questioning the answer Silas had given her.

"Listen, let us not get distracted here. You have the spell ready? Then we will become immortal on our wedding day! This is a time to celebrate," Silas said, smiling excitedly while caressing Qetsiyah's face.

He leaned in to kiss her and her response was warm. She wrapped her arms around his neck, prolonging the kiss, savouring the taste and feel of his soft lips. He abruptly broke their tender connection and caressed her face once again.

"I have something else to show you," Qetsiyah said playfully with her eyes half closed, caressing Silas' chest with her fingers. "Come see!"

Silas quickly glanced in the direction that Amara had gone to before answering. "I can't, beloved. It's like you said—the High Cleric seems to be aware of certain things. If we're going to accomplish this, we must move fast. When you're ready, we'll undergo your Immortality Spell together after we take our vows. I'll go and make sure things are ready for our wedding. Everything has to be perfect!"

Silas proceeded to walk away but Qetsiyah held onto his hand. He squeezed it gently and gave her a reassuring smile before she let go and watched him disappear into the night.

She stood pondering for a moment. Ever since she had returned from Jerusalem, she had developed doubts as to Silas's feelings. She thought her absence would make his heart grow fonder, but wondered if her insistence on going on the trip alone had backfired on her. Perhaps Silas took it as Qetsiyah wanting to create distance between them, both literally and figuratively. She didn't, instead arguing that she went alone to protect Silas from the wrath of the High Cleric and the gods. And even though he seemingly accepted that rationale and was as loving and as tender as before upon her return to Greece, there was a feeling that something had changed that she couldn't quite shake off.

She began to wonder if perhaps Silas had lost trust in her, if not love. She couldn't blame him. After all, her creating the Immortality Spell wasn't the only secret she was keeping from him. She desperately wanted to tell him everything but was unsure as to what his reactions would be. She wanted to tell him about her son whose identity she had to keep a secret to ensure that he would not be another sacrifice to the gods as punishment from the High Cleric. She wanted to tell him of the souvenir that she had brought back with her from Jerusalem, a potential source of power that they could use for themselves. She wanted to show him the plans that she had for what would be her greatest magical masterpiece.

Qetsiyah entered her tent and rummaged through pieces of papyrus. She gathered specific sheets together that were the designs for the most powerful spell that she, or any witch, would potentially ever do. It would be a failsafe in the event that the Immortality Spell didn't work or if somehow a weakness for it were to be found and she and Silas were killed. The High Cleric had often warned her that death was not a release, but a gateway to true suffering. For beyond death, those of her coven who were worthy of punishment would find themselves in Tartarus. But they would not encounter the Titans of legends past, but rather would find the banished gods, who in their anger and misery would inflict such pain and torment upon their souls that any suffering endured in the living world could not compare. Whether it was a bluff on the High Cleric's part or it was the truth, Qetsiyah decided she was not going to take any chances. If death were to somehow overtake her and Silas, she would ensure that their souls were safe in a separate world outside of Tartarus.

As she looked over the spell, she realized that she still needed something to anchor this new ethereal world. She thought of the upcoming lunar eclipse, but the infrequent appearance of such a cosmic phenomenon made Qetsiyah doubt its suitability. Also, it was not a mystical object and she felt she needed something mystical as well eternal and indestructible to ensure that it would always be there to anchor her new world when she and Silas needed it.

Qetsiyah put the papyrus away, paranoia about the High Cleric getting the best of her. Her first priority was the Immortality Spell. She gathered the items together to create the elixir that she and Silas would drink on their wedding day to become immortal. She would worry about finding a solution to her ethereal world afterwards.

Thinking of both spells, she realized that she and Silas would truly be together forever, whether in life or in death. Neither the gods nor the High Cleric nor any power in the universe could stop it.

"True love prevails, universe be damned!"


	2. TVD S6 - Part 2 Ch2

_An Offer He Can't Refuse_

"Maybe we should get out of here, yeah?" Colin said, nervously looking around the darkened living room that was barely lit up from the burning wood in the steel drum that he and his date, Sara, had managed to drag into the room. They had ripped apart some of the paintings and furniture that had remained there to use as fuel for the fire.

"What the hell, dude? Scared?" Sara mockingly asked as she bent down close to the fire to light up a doobie, careful not to singe her hair that was sticking out from under her beanie.

"No, I'm not scared. It's…it's just—"

"It's just what?"

"Well, with all the news reports of people being killed in town lately, should we really be here?"

Sara stood up straight, inhaled deeply on the joint and let out a long stream of smoke towards Colin. "Well, we're not in town now, are we?"

"No. But you do know where we are, right?"

Sara looked around the room nonchalantly and then shrugged. "We're in a house! Well, a mansion by the looks of it."

Colin shook his head and sighed. "Not just any house. You've never heard of the Mikaelson Family?"

"The who?"

Colin pinched the bridge of his nose. "The Mikaelsons!"

"Dude, I just moved here like a couple of months ago. I don't know what the hell you're talking about. Who are the Michaelings?"

"The Mikaelsons! They're a family of—"

Colin looked away, unsure of whether or not he should bother continuing telling his date of the supernatural history of Mystic Falls.

Sara stood cross-armed, continuing to puff on her joint, staring at Colin with a hazy look already forming on her face. "I'm waiting!"

Colin took a deep breath. "They're a family of vampires. It's said that they used to live in this very house. My parents had even attended a ball they had here once, although they don't seem to remember much of it for some reason."

Sara started laughing. "Are you serious? I don't know if it's the Mary Jane or your stupid imagination, but that's the funniest thing I've heard yet! A vampire family? This is what I get for trying online dating in some backwater town!"

The freckles on Colin's face became more pronounced in the light of the fire as he looked down while shuffling his feet. His head snapped up as he heard a loud noise coming from another room of the mansion.

"What was that?!" asked Colin, startled.

Sara looked around lazily, exhaling a hazy puff of smoke. She looked at Colin with embellished eyes.

"Maybe it was a vampire!" she replied, smiling in sarcastic exaggeration.

"Well, to be fair, luv," Enzo said, appearing right behind her, "it was the werewolf who made that particular noise!"

Sara jumped as she turned around to face Enzo. He plucked the joint from Sara's mouth with one hand while grabbing her head with another. With his fangs already out, he viciously torqued her head to the side and buried his fangs into her neck, blood bursting like a dam into his open mouth.

Sara screamed while gripping Enzo's body, trying to push him away. Meanwhile, Colin momentarily stood paralyzed while staring in shock at Enzo sucking the blood from Sara's neck. He flinched forward, intending to help her, but ultimately decided to turn and run away. He ran a few meters in the dark before running into a hulking mass of black fur that seemed to appear from the darkness surrounding the room. He looked up to see a werewolf towering over him, its demonic eyes gleaming with gold and red and a black slit in the center, its mouth brandishing sharp canine teeth that were dripping with drool.

With a growl and a hungry resolve, the werewolf swiped at Colin's midsection with such quickness that Colin barely reacted. It took a few seconds for the pain to register in Colin's mind, and it was only the sudden feeling of warm liquid pooling around his waist that caused him to look down to see blood oozing out from four large scratch marks that appeared across the front of his body.

Mercifully, the full pain of the attack didn't last long. Like a basketball player with a ball in his hand, the werewolf grasped Colin's head with its massive claw and ripped it clean off his body. As the body fell forward, blood spurting out from the neck, the werewolf threw the head away and got on all fours. It sniffed the blood that was pooling from Colin's headless corpse before starting to lap it up. Eventually, the werewolf ripped the clothes off and began feasting on the rest of the body.

Death soon clouded over the eyes of Sara as her body went limp. Enzo pulled his blood drenched mouth away from her neck, grabbed the beanie off her head before letting her body crash to the floor. He wiped his mouth with the beanie and then threw it into the fiery drum before taking a puff of her joint.

"Last dance with Mary Jane," Enzo quoted as he let out a stream of smoke. "One more time to kill the pain."

* * *

Tyler shrieked as a searing pain in his thigh brought him back to consciousness. He thrashed around on the floor, tossing and pushing away the debris and rubbish that surrounded him. Finally sitting upright, panting and heaving, he clutched his left thigh which sported a fresh burn mark, the cloth of his jeans sticking to the bloody and burnt flesh that was still sizzling from the heated metal poker that Enzo had just jabbed him with.

"Good morning, sunshine! Welcome back to the land of the sentient," Enzo said smiling while throwing away the metal rod. "So sorry for the cattle branding there, mate. But we don't have time to let you sleep the night away."

Tyler's breathing started to slow as he leered up at Enzo. He looked around the room and immediately recognized where he was.

"This…this is the Mikaelson mansion," Tyler said.

"Very good, Tyler. Oh, I'm sure you're quite familiar with this place, aren't you?" Enzo responded. "With the Traveler spell dropped and by-invitation-only rules now fully restored in all the flats of Mystic Falls, I figured we needed somewhere more private and less occupied where we could chat. I didn't think you'd invite me in into your humble abode. And since it is the Mikaelsons that we're going to be discussing, I figured—why not here where anyone and everyone are welcome?"

Enzo motioned to the mutilated bodies of Sara and Colin. Tyler recoiled and dragged himself back and away from them until he was up against a wall. He looked at the bodies and then at Enzo, who winked at him. Tyler grimaced as he struggled to stand up, gasping and grunting as the pain in his leg made the task all the more difficult. He finally managed to stand though he leaned against the wall for support. He looked around the abandoned room of the mansion, memories of his time as Klaus' sired hybrid flashing in his mind.

His stroll down memory lane was interrupted by the growling coming from the hulking werewolf that was crouched on the floor some distance behind Enzo. Tyler immediately tensed up and pressed himself against the wall, ready to bounce off of it if the werewolf decided to attack.

"Oh, don't mind him," Enzo said. "He won't hurt you…again. After all, from what I hear, you're family."

"What?" Tyler replied, confused.

Enzo smiled as he turned to look at the werewolf. "Do you mind?"

The werewolf began to shrink into himself, like a spider coiling up. The familiar sounds of cracking bones and shrinking muscles accompanied the slow disappearance of the black fur receding into the man's skin. He shrunk from the mammoth creature he once was into the size of an average man. When the transformation was complete, he stood up naked, breathless and sweating, grinning at Tyler. His mouth and chin were still caked with dry blood, making his smiling face all the more unnerving.

"Uncle Mason?!" Tyler gasped, staring incredulously at his father's brother, who was slowly approaching him. He was both surprised and confused by Mason's appearance, as he didn't look right. Even with the poor lighting, Tyler could see that Mason's skin was not its usual Caucasian flesh colour. It looked more like cigarette ash, all grey and cracked. And there was a sudden odour that wafted into Tyler's nostrils that he had never smelled before and couldn't identify.

"Well, not quite," Enzo replied. He casually lifted his hand, commanding Mason to stop his approach. "You see, your beloved uncle Mason is indeed in there, but he's not alone."

"Wh—what? What the hell does that mean?" asked Tyler, still reeling.

"Here's the thing. I'm not here to bombard you with codswallop. There's a war a-brewin'. And you need to pick a side."

"What war? What are you talking about?"

"You're obviously aware of the Other Side going down, yes? Well, that has allowed an opening into another—shall we say—world. A world where some rather restless spirits have been waiting to return."

Tyler tried moving himself away from the wall but the burn on his leg began throbbing as the fabric of his jeans scraped against it. He dropped to one knee, clutching at his thigh.

"Hey!" Enzo bellowed, clapping his hands as a teacher would while attempting to get the attention of an unruly class of children. "Let's focus here! We don't have time to be lollygagging around!"

"What the hell are you talking about? What other world?"

"A prison. Tartarus. The Abyss. It has several names in several languages. But now it's a place where all the inhabitants of the Other Side are calling 'home.'"

Tyler looked down at the floor, trying to put all the pieces together in his head with what Enzo had just told him. "Wait…so Damon and Bonnie…and my uncle Mason…they—"

"Alive and kicking! But as I said, they are not alone."

"What does that mean?"

Enzo glanced at Mason and smiled at him, with Mason likewise doing the same. "As I mentioned, there were some rather agitated prisoners occupying that world, itching to come back to this one. And some did, hitching a ride with the souls of Damon and Bonnie, and your uncle Mason here."

"What spirits? What are they?"

"Well, see now that would take some time to explain. In a nutshell, they belong to a group of…how shall I put this?" Enzo rhetorically asked himself. "Let's call them—personalities—that have existed longer than your puny mental faculties could ever hope to comprehend. They are called the Kingdom."

Tyler furrowed his brows, looking away, trying to process the information.

"Are you still with me, Tyler?" asked Enzo.

"So what's that got to with Bonnie and Damon and my uncle?" Tyler asked, looking back at Enzo. "And what's this war you're talking about?"

Enzo smirked and started pacing back and forth. "Some time ago, the Kingdom lost some members in the Abyss. While in that prison, they created their own community—their own 'kingdom.' They dubbed themselves the Sovereignty. Rather ostentatious name, don't you think? Now that they've returned, they don't seem to want to rejoin the Kingdom. Rather, they seek to usurp it. I'm here to stop that. And you're going to help me."

"What?!" exclaimed Mason suddenly. He turned his body towards Enzo with clenched fists, his face a horrible combination of anger and disgust. His blue eyes transformed to the eerie gold and red combination that Tyler had seen before. "Traitor! You said you were here to help us!"

Enzo slowly turned to face Tyler's uncle. As opposed to Mason's expression, Enzo's face was blank, though Tyler could see that he was clearly annoyed. Tyler flinched suddenly as he saw Enzo, in a literal blink of his eye, turn his own eyes like Mason's, glowing with gold and red with a black slit in the center.

Enzo stood about an arm's length away from Mason. His eyebrows began to furrow and a snarl appeared on his lips as he continued to stare intensely. Tyler flinched again as Enzo opened his mouth, letting out a deafening roar that caused Tyler to wince and turn away. He eventually had to put his hands up to his ears to dampen the volume. It was a roar that sounded unlike any animal Tyler had ever heard before, though the closest thing he could match it to was a pack of lions roaring in unison, with the sound of thunder being provided as a backdrop. The deep and intense rumbling rattled Tyler to his core.

He looked up to see that it also had an effect on his uncle as well, as Mason was submissively looking down and away, his eyes closed and his body relaxed. Enzo stopped roaring, and with another blink his eyes returned to their normal brown colour. He looked away from Mason in abhorrence and turned his attention back to Tyler.

"You—you're one of them? The Kingdom?" Tyler asked.

Enzo knelt down in front of Tyler, his expression soft and contemplative. "After Damon left me to burn and I was once again the unwilling guinea pig of the atrocious Augustine Society, I became desperate. I couldn't handle their torturous experiments anymore, or the thought of spending an eternity in their hands. I eventually cried out to—"

Enzo looked up, and for the briefest of moments, his face contorted to a look of absolute hatred and wrath. It looked similar to the face Mason had flashed just moments before.

"—to the High Enemy, as the Kingdom calls Him. Heaven didn't answer. But the Kingdom did. They offered their help and I accepted. They got me through those years of torture. Slowly, over time, I accepted their full support. We became one. We got—married—as it were!"

He snickered as he looked down. The analogy seemed to greatly amuse him.

"So…you're possessed? By these Kingdom spirits?" asked Tyler, scrutinizing his face, trying to understand the nature of what Enzo had become.

"Oh, 'possession' is such a dirty description," Enzo replied casually while standing up. "I prefer the term 'symbiotic co-habitation!' But no matter how you slice it, the end result is the same. They help me, and I help them. And they make me better for it! And that's what the Kingdom seeks to do with you…if you're willing."

Tyler clenched his teeth as he stood up as well, but as he struggled, a strange feeling came over him. He found that his leg wasn't hurting as much as before. The pain appeared to be slowly subsiding. He felt different, yet it was a sensation that felt somehow familiar as well, though he didn't immediately recognize it. Tyler shook off the symptoms and focused on Enzo, looking at him with suspicion. "So what does that mean? I would have to accept possession too? Believe or not, I've been possessed before. By Klaus Mikaelson, no less. It's not something I want to go through again!"

"Nor will you," Enzo replied. "It's not the same as being possessed by some vampire or a witch. As I said, it's symbiotic."

Tyler raised an eyebrow when he looked over at Mason. "My uncle doesn't look like he's enjoying symbiosis to me!"

Enzo shook his head in disappointment. "You're focusing on the wrong thing there, Tyler. Look at what he can do now! He can control his transformation. The full moon has no power over him. His size, his speed, his strength, his senses…all have been augmented."

"And why would I want that?" Tyler asked.

"Are you asking me, or yourself?" Enzo asked in return. "After all, he has the power to take out an Original vampire now—even an Original hybrid!"

A spark passed through Tyler's eyes. His hands began to twitch, his eyes widened, with his lip involuntarily curling ever so slightly. Enzo analysed his face and chuckled.

"Ahhh! There it is! That's what I was testing to see. All those 'cheap horror tricks,' as you called them, back at your house? I wanted to see what was left in you, to see if you still had some fight left, some kind of fire! Or did Klaus beat it out of you and leave you permanently defeated when you fled New Orleans with your tail between your legs?"

Tyler scowled as he shoved Enzo away, who laughed while putting his hands up in a defensive position.

"Whoa! Easy there, mate. I'm not the enemy here. I want to help you take on the one who is!"

Tyler ran his hands through his hair. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. He remained still for a moment, trying to quell the war between his lust for revenge and his knowledge that it was a bad deal that Enzo was offering him. He snapped his eyes open and looked at him. "And why would you want to attack Klaus? This…Kingdom…that you talk about? They don't exactly seem like a bunch of choir boys. I would have thought someone like Klaus would be a fan favourite."

"Oh, he was," Enzo replied as he began pacing back and forth with his hands behind his back like a general lecturing the troops. "But like me, he too was helped by the Kingdom during his days suffering under the Hunter's Curse. But no settlement or marriage was required since he had done the Kingdom proud throughout the centuries all on his own. But now, he's gone soft because of that bastard child of his. That child, along with Klaus and the other Mikaelsons—they all could be major players in this contest between the Kingdom and this wretched Sovereignty."

"But why me? You can send my uncle Mason, or get another werewolf. Why me?"

Enzo grinned. "A job is done much more successfully when the worker enjoys what he does. Though you're not the sharpest tool in the shed, Tyler, you're indeed determined. Your hatred of Klaus will ensure that the job gets done, that you'll do what is required to subdue him or even kill him, if necessary. The sheer strength of will on your part to break the sire bond to him, and then to lead others to do the same…the Kingdom could use that kind of talent!"

Tyler turned away in resignation. He kept looking for a reason to decline because Enzo was offering everything that he could ever want, and yet something was telling him that there was a catch. There always is. He looked at his uncle and shook his head.

"No…no, I won't be a slave again, whether it's through a sire bond or through possession. I've been down both roads before and they both led to a bad end for me. The benefits aren't worth it."

Enzo closed his eyes and sighed. "You won't be a slave, Tyler. The relationship is symbiotic. It's cooperative. Your uncle? He's weak and therefore the spirits that reside within him have more control. But you and I? Do I look like a bloody puppet to you?! My will is too strong for that, as is yours. When you accept co-habitation with the Kingdom, you're not possessed. You're enhanced!"

"Let's say I believe you," replied Tyler, exasperated. "But I'm not a werewolf anymore. I'm still human. Do you really expect me to go out and randomly kill someone just to turn on my werewolf gene?"

Enzo chuckled and slowly walked up to Tyler. He leaned in to whisper into his ear. "How's the burn on your leg feeling?"

Tyler put his hand on his thigh to feel the wound, shocked to discover that it was gone as was the pain. He bent over to get a better look at his thigh and discovered his skin was completely healed. Other than the hole in his pants, no one could tell that he had been burnt just minutes beforehand.

"What?! How the hell—"

"Looks like you managed to activate your werewolf gene all on your own," replied Enzo, walking away from Tyler. "Tragic, really. That young man you attacked had such a future in football. What's even more tragic is that the hospital staff, as well as his family, was compelled to believe he didn't exist. That kind of neglect will lead to anyone's death, especially someone who needs care after serious head trauma."

Tyler leered at Enzo with wide eyes and an open mouth. "You killed Malcolm?"

"No, you did. I just made sure that it stuck."

Tyler looked at his hands. He rubbed his fingers together, clenched his fists and flexed his arm muscles, feeling the newfound energy within his body, along with the lack of exhaustion and pain that he had felt just moments before. He breathed in deeply, feeling revitalized and fresh, like he had just woken up from a good night's rest, ready to take on the world with focus and vigour.

*crack-crackle-crack*

Tyler looked at Enzo, who was cracking his knuckles.

"Get used to that sound again," Enzo said snidely. "You're going to be hearing that every month now too!"

"I've endured the pain before. I know what it's like."

"I'm sure you do," Enzo replied. "But why suffer needlessly? I know what it is to endure pain as well. The Kingdom endures it for you, so you don't have to. It's a win-win, Tyler. You get the power and the chance for revenge, they get a home. Tell me, where's the downside?"

Tyler looked at his hands again. He could abstractly feel the painful memory of his bones breaking, tendons and ligaments being stretched, and his muscles being ripped as part of the werewolf transformation.

He looked up and around the room. He thought of Klaus. He thought of Caroline. He thought of his mother. He looked over at his uncle. He thought of his pack that was slaughtered. He thought of Matt and Jeremy. He thought of Elena and Stefan. He thought of Damon and Bonnie. He thought of Malcolm. He thought of Sheriff Liz. He looked at his hands again and clenched them while closing his eyes.

"So what do you say, Tyler?" asked Enzo, extending his hand out to him. "Are you in?"

Tyler opened his eyes and stared at Enzo's hand.

He had made his decision.

 _Mystic Falls' Lot_

"How's that feeling?" asked Istas as she tightened the makeshift sling around Liz's neck.

"It's—*ugh*—it's okay. I can actually start to feel something in my fingertips."

Istas continued to adjust the sling on Liz as she sat against the back wheel of the chicken bus. Alaric turned the corner from the back of the bus and knelt down beside the Sheriff.

"How are you feeling, Liz?"

"Still sore. Caroline's blood helped but it's taking its sweet time to alleviate the pain."

"It's going to take a while for you to get full function of your arm and hand," Istas said as she made some final adjustments. "But you'll be alright soon, ma'am."

Liz softly chuckled. "Look, I may be a bit older these days but I'm not quite ready for the 'ma'am' club just yet! You can call me Liz."

Istas let out a soft chuckle of her own. Alaric involuntarily smiled upon seeing Istas' stone face suddenly become soft. Istas looked at Alaric smiling at her and immediately checked herself, returning her visage to the stoic and disciplined mask that she was used to wearing.

"Try not to move your arm too much. It'll take time for the bones and ligaments to reattach and regenerate, so the less you move it around, the better," Istas instructed.

"You seem to have some experience with this," Alaric commented.

"I've endured similar injuries over the years," replied Istas. She glanced at Alaric and quickly returned her gaze to Liz's arm. She did a final adjustment before helping Liz to stand up.

The bus doors opened and Caroline appeared, turning her head towards them. She got off the bus and approached the trio.

"You okay, mom?"

"Yeah, I will be soon. How are Andrea and Tom doing?"

"They'll be alright. A little vampire blood helped heal their injuries. I've compelled them to take a bit of a nap until we decide what we're going to do. Are you sure you're okay?"

Liz looked over the job that Istas had just finished. "I will be, according to the good doctor here," she replied, nodding towards Istas.

Istas flashed a soft grin and nodded in return before turning away and leaving the group. Caroline watched as she walked away and hesitated for a moment before running up behind her.

"Hey," Caroline said lightly.

Istas turned around, a look of annoyance or exhaustion—Caroline couldn't tell—greeted her.

"I just…I just wanted to thank you for helping my mom. You have no idea how much I appreciate that," Caroline said, giving Istas a gentle smile.

The cold demeanor faded from Istas face as she looked behind Caroline to Liz. "Don't mention it. Your mom is a remarkable woman. She's very strong. She reminds me of someone I once—"

Istas looked down and cleared her throat. She closed her eyes as she attempted to inhibit a balloon of anguish that seemed to be expanding from her heart, threatening to break her down into a display of grief that she didn't want to show anyone, especially Caroline.

Without looking up again, Istas turned and walked away. She passed by Elena, who was attending to Matt. Elena watched as Istas walked by, mildly curious as to what Caroline had said since she wasn't paying attention to them. She returned her attention to Matt.

"Feeling better now?" Elena asked him, looking at his arm.

"My arm is better. Can't say the same for what I'm feeling inside," Matt replied, a look of depression covering his face as he stared away into the distance.

"I can't believe Vicki did this. Are you sure it was her?" Elena asked in disbelief.

"I don't know, Elena," Matt replied, shaking his head in exasperation. "If it is her, then something obviously happened to her. When she got sucked into that…void…or whatever it was when she was on the Other Side must have taken her somewhere. Maybe the same place where Damon and Bonnie went to. Who knows where she went and who or what got to her?"

Elena glared over at Alaric who had moved over to talk to Jeremy who was being attended to by Abby. "Maybe we know someone who does."

"How's the leg feeling?" Alaric asked Jeremy.

"It's better now, thanks. Abby's blood helped a lot," Jeremy replied somewhat curtly.

Alaric nodded and felt like saying something more, but for some unknown reason felt at a loss for words. Both stood looking at each other, caught in the midst of an awkward pause. Jeremy finally piped up as he gave Alaric an impatient look.

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Aren't you going to give me a lecture or something? About how I screwed up? How we shouldn't have gone after Damon and those other vampires?"

Alaric heaved out a heavy sigh. "Jer, I'm not here to lecture you. Believe it or not, I'm actually kind of proud of you. If you and Matt hadn't done what you did, Liz wouldn't be here right now. You saved her as well as her deputies. And you held your own against a very powerful opponent. How could I be mad about that?"

He gave a smile of approval as he put his hand on Jeremy's shoulder, further expressing his praise. Jeremy smiled and breathed in deeply, a sense of giddiness and pride slowly creeping outwards from his chest as he revelled in seeing Alaric, or anyone, expressing such satisfaction in him.

Alaric turned around and looked at the bus. "Though I think you could have chosen a better mode of transportation. Where did you two get this thing?"

Jeremy chuckled as he stared at the bus. "You don't want to know. It was the best we could find on such short notice. We were hoping to get as many people out of Mystic Falls in one go. We saw what Damon and the others were doing, killing people without care, leaving dead bodies on the streets like trash. I've never seen anything like it. I figured the people in Mystic Falls were in real danger."

"They are," Alaric agreed ominously. "With the Traveler spell down, Damon and them are free to roam in the daytime and at night. Their compulsion powers are at full force. The only thing stopping them from wandering out of Mystic Falls is Luke's boundary spell. But they have a whole town to feed on. Plus, I'm concerned about Vicki Donovan showing up all of a sudden. That's something I wasn't expecting."

"You seem to be expecting quite a bit, Ric," Elena said as she approached the trio, followed by Matt. "You know something about what's going on and I think it's time that you told us."

Caroline and Liz soon joined the crowd as they all gathered in a circle, looking at Alaric for answers. He took a deep breath and looked down for a moment to collect his thoughts. He finally lifted his head and looked at them all.

"What I'm about to say, I'm not 100% sure about, but I think what we're dealing with is a bizarre case of demonic possession."

Everyone looked at each with confusion and uneasiness.

Caroline shook her head in disbelief. "Demonic possession? What…like Linda Blair and green pea soup possession? You can't be serious, Ric."

"When my wife, Isobel, became a vampire, I spent a ton of time going over her notes and research on the supernatural and the paranormal, trying to find out what had happened to her. Some of that research included demonology and I became familiar with the signs and symptoms of possession. What Damon, Bonnie and Vicki have been exhibiting, it points to them being possessed by demonic spirits."

"What symptoms? How do you know it's not some coven of witches or vampires that possessed them?" Matt asked.

"You've been possessed by a Traveler witch. I've been possessed by Klaus and Elena's been possessed by Katherine, both vampires. At no time did we ever exhibit what Damon and Bonnie are exhibiting. The weird eyes…the strange smell…the way their skin looks…the enhanced strength and powers. I held a crucifix to Damon when I fought him in the Salvatore mansion and he recoiled from it."

"But possession is possession, isn't it? Why are they showing these symptoms?" Jeremy asked.

"Witches, vampires and werewolves, they all have a human soul. Demons are not and have never been human. It's like if a gorilla were to move into your house versus just an ordinary human being. In time, the house is going to look a lot different under the care of the gorilla than it would under a human! It's the same with a demon versus someone who has a human soul inhabiting a human body."

"But that other woman who is with them, the one who said she knew Liv Parker. She doesn't look like the rest of them." Matt pointed out.

"She could be perfectly possessed," replied Alaric, pensively. "That's when a human has accepted full possession from a demonic spirit. Their spirits become one. After that, they look and act normal. No one knows that they're possessed unless the possessing demon wants to reveal itself. She could be one of those."

Elena interjected. "You say you're not 100% sure though. Why?"

"While they seem to be exhibiting some of the symptoms, it's not the same as what I've read. Usually it takes months, perhaps even years, to get to where Damon and Bonnie are. Furthermore, demonic possession happens to people in this world, and has happened for hundreds of years if you believe the accounts. I can't figure out where or how Damon and Bonnie became possessed so quickly outside of our world, and why it's affecting only those who were on the Other Side."

"Look, this is all very interesting," Liz said as she walked into the center of the circle and looked at Alaric. "But that doesn't change what is happening in Mystic Falls. Whatever has happened to Damon, Bonnie and Vicki, it's made them more dangerous than ever before and they threaten the whole town if we don't do something right now to stop them."

"So what's the plan? Do we start evacuating the town?" Jeremy asked.

"Not without some preparations. Damon's powers have been enhanced to where even I can't beat him. With that other vampire and with Bonnie's magical powers being enhanced too, and given that they have Vicki and who knows who else may have joined them…we could be at a serious disadvantage," Alaric replied.

"We don't have time for preparations, Ric," argued Liz. "I saw what they were trying to do back at the station. They're not just feeding. They're also trying to turn people into vampires. This whole town could become Salem's Lot by the time the morning comes!"

Alaric looked at the bus and shook his head. "Even if we were to take this bus to evacuate the town, it could take hours! Half the town could be turned or dead by that time. We need to slow them down somehow."

"Wait a minute!" Caroline exclaimed. "If the Traveler spell is gone, then everything is back to normal. That means that vampires can't enter homes without being invited in, right? If people were to stay inside, that might protect them."

"How do we get a whole town to stay in their homes?" Jeremy asked.

"I have a solution. Caroline, hand me your phone," Liz said.

Caroline gave her mom her phone. Liz pressed some buttons and began typing a message. She hit the 'send' button and returned the phone back to Caroline.

"I've just sent out a town-wide alert for the people to remain in their homes until further notice. After that business with the Travelers, I created an alert system to reach everyone's cell phone and e-mail addresses in case I ever needed to evacuate the town again."

"Smart! That should protect most of the townsfolk," Alaric said, nodding.

"But will people follow that?" Jeremy asked.

"There's no way to know, but it's the best we can do right now," Liz replied.

"That slows Damon and them down, but the people are still susceptible to compulsion. How do we protect them from that?" asked Abby.

Liz looked at Abby and smiled as an inspiration came to her. "Rudy!"

"What about him?" Abby asked, wondering why Liz was bringing up her ex-husband.

"When he was mayor of Mystic Falls, he tainted the drinking water with vervain to ensure that people couldn't be compelled or bitten. We might be able to do the same."

"Can you get enough vervain to do the job?" Alaric asked.

"He kept an ample supply of vervain near the town's water supply. I never removed it because I figured we might need it someday. Looks like that day has come!"

"Great! Caroline, can you and your mom take care of that? Meet us back here when you're done," Alaric instructed.

"You bet! Okay, mom. We don't have a car so we're going to have to go on foot. Just tell me where to go and hold on tight when I start moving," Caroline warned her mom.

Liz looked at her nervously and shook her head as she and Caroline departed from the group.

"What about the rest of us?" Elena asked.

"There is still one factor that's bothering me, and that's Bonnie. She's not a vampire and her magical abilities could easily nullify all of our efforts, including a way to bring down Luke's boundary spell. We have to contain her somehow," Alaric said.

"Contain her? You mean 'save' her," Abby retorted.

"And not just her, but Damon too!" Elena added. "And don't forget that they have Stefan. We have to save him too."

"And Vicki! I'm not leaving her to being possessed by a demon!" Matt further argued.

Alaric ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. He paced back and forth as he closed his eyes while his hands moved from the back of his head to cover his mouth. He stopped pacing and looked at the group with sorrowful eyes.

"Look, I'm not going to lie to you. Exorcising someone of demonic possession doesn't happen with a wave of a hand and a prayer. The fact that Damon and Bonnie and Vicki are exhibiting symptoms at all is a positive sign, since it means that possession is not complete and that they're fighting somehow. But that doesn't mean that we can—"

"Just stop right there!" Elena interrupted. "Not saving them is NOT an option! So whatever plan you have in your head, Ric, it will NOT include leaving them to live or die under possession. We're going to save them, end of discussion!"

Alaric breathed in deeply as he looked skyward and closed his eyes. He then looked at Elena and nodded in resignation. "Alright. But let's be clear on this—we might not be able to save them all at the same time. First thing's first and that's keeping them contained and keeping them from massacring Mystic Falls. That's easier to do with the vampires than it is with a witch, so I think that our first priority is to somehow separate Bonnie from the group. If we can do that, it means we won't have someone with magical abilities fighting against us."

"But what about Damon and—"

"THAT is the plan, Elena! First Bonnie, and then we figure out a way to subdue the rest and once we've stopped them from being a threat, we find a way to exorcise whatever is inside of them!"

Elena crossed her arms and rolled her eyes before looking off to the side like a child who was told she couldn't have dessert because she didn't eat her dinner.

"So how do we do this?" Abby asked.

"Somehow, we need to isolate her," Alaric said, pondering. He turned around and looked at the bus and nodded to himself. "We'll need to set up a distraction, and maybe we can start hitting two birds with one stone."

He turned to Matt and Jeremy. "Once Caroline and Liz get back, you two along with Liz and Elena, will start evacuating the town. Get as many people on the bus as you can."

Elena's eyes narrowed. "Why do you want me to go with them?"

"Because I'm hoping that perhaps you and Matt can draw Damon and Vicki to you. I'm trying to 'thin the herd,' so to speak. If it works, it will isolate Bonnie. Abby, Caroline and I will head to the Salvatore mansion and see if we can't subdue her somehow. There's just one problem."

"What's that?" Jeremy asked.

Alaric turned and looked all around. "Where's Istas?"

 _Lone Wolf_

Istas opened the bag on the end of her bike and began re-organizing the weapons and other materials inside. She put her handmade _kunai_ blades into the bag, figuring she wouldn`t need them on the drive back to her tribe's reservation since she didn`t anticipate encountering any trouble on the road. In the midst of putting the blades in the bag, she turned her head, picking up the sounds of someone approaching her at vamp-speed.

"Izzy! There you are," Abby said as she slowed her approach. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going back home, Abby. There's nothing left for me to do here. I figure I have a better chance of finding out what happened to Angie if I go back to the reservation and consult with Nancy. Since she seems to have some idea of what's going on, I'm thinking she can perhaps commune with the Spirits and find a way to get Angie back from wherever she is."

Abby walked closer to Istas, scrutinizing her face with what little light the moon was providing, trying to gauge as to what was really going on.

"Do you think that Nancy can really help you with that?" Abby asked, a tone of concern clearly lining her question.

"We'll see, won't we? Good luck in finding your daughter, Abby," Istas replied, flashing a smile and rubbing Abby on her arm before securing her bag to her bike.

She brushed past Abby and mounted the motorcycle. Before she was able to turn the ignition key, Abby covered Istas' hand with her own.

"Wait!" Abby exclaimed. "What's going on? You were hell bent on getting revenge on Elena and Jeremy and then determined to find out what happened to your sister. Now, you're leaving all of this on the chance that Nancy might have an answer?"

With her other hand, Istas gently grabbed Abby's hand and removed it from hers.

"Yeah!" Istas replied straightforwardly before turning the ignition and revving her bike. When she switched the lights on, she suddenly saw Abby standing ahead of her.

Istas revved her bike again, trying to signal to Abby that she was driving ahead whether she moved out of the way or not. Abby crossed her arms and stood with her legs wide apart, resolute and determined to stay in place.

Shaking her head, Istas turned the ignition off and pushed the kickstand out.

"Ya know, you've been pushing your luck quite a bit with me ever since you got here, Abby!"

Abby uncrossed her arms and walked over to Istas. "Izzy, I'm not here to make your life difficult. I'm here to find my daughter. And I know you want to find your sister. And we both know that it all starts here. I also know of the mandate that Nancy gave to you in finding the doppelgangers."

"And I found the doppelgangers. Check that off the list. Now I'm following my own mandate and trying to find Angie."

"So why are you running away from this?"

"Running away?!" Istas asked, looking at Abby incredulously. "Is that what you think I'm doing?"

"It's what it looks like."

"Looks can be deceiving."

"Yeah, they can be. Which is why I know there is more to you leaving than what you're telling me."

"I don't answer to you and you don't know me well enough to judge my actions, Abby."

Abby exhaled deeply and nodded. "Maybe I don't. But I know when someone is running away from something out of fear but pretending that everything is alright, because I've done it."

Istas let out a hearty laugh. "Afraid?! You REALLY don't know me! I'm not afraid—"

"Spare me the 'I'm not afraid of anything' line. We all fear something."

"I don't! You have no idea the experiences I've had, the training I've done, the trials I've endured. I've been trained not to be afraid!"

"And yet you're running away."

Istas dismissed Abby with a wave of her hand. "Believe what you want, but I know what I'm doing and why I'm doing it. I don't need this wanna-be Goonies gang, I don't need this town, and—sorry to say it like this, Abby—but I don't need you either!"

She kicked back the kickstand and steadied her bike and put her hand to the ignition key. Abby once again covered the hand with hers.

"But maybe we need you. I need you!"

Istas looked up into Abby's pleading eyes. She reached for Abby's hand to take it off hers again but paused momentarily. She looked off to the side as she contemplated the decision before her.

Had it been anyone else asking her, she would not have even considered the option to stay. But ever since she first met her, she had felt a kind of kindred spirit connection with Abby. Istas tried her best to keep that connection at bay since she never felt comfortable getting close to anyone, but at the same time, the connection was alluring. When she learned of Abby's story, about how she abandoned Bonnie after Abby's encounter with Mikael, how she later became a vampire and became separated from the natural world as she knew it, Istas could relate. Though her own experiences weren't exactly the same, there was a thread of experience that she could empathise with and she felt that Abby somehow could empathise with her in a way that no one else, no one since Angie, could ever do.

But along with that empathy came a sense of knowing that, indeed, Istas was not telling the truth. Istas hated that Abby could tell. And yet, she was also oddly relieved, as she was carrying this burden of fear inside of her ever since her fight with Valene at the Salvatore mansion. It was a fear that she didn't want to admit to anyone, let alone herself. It was a fear of a man who first taught her what fear tasted like.

She desperately wanted to tell someone and have that person tell her that she was just imagining things. She wanted to tell someone and have that person tell her that she had nothing to fear. She wanted to tell someone and have that person tell her that the chilling voice of her ex-husband, Chris, coming out of Valene was a mere parlour trick and it meant nothing.

Istas closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. She slowly opened her eyes again and looked at Abby, about to tell her what she was feeling when she picked up the sound of someone else approaching at vamp-speed.

"She's right, ya know," Alaric said, slowing down as she approached the pair. "We do need you."

"Oh, great! The Ken doll is here!" Istas muttered derisively.

"Excuse me?" replied Alaric.

"Ya know, I was thiiiiiis close to changing my mind," Istas said, motioning with her thumb and index finger. "But now?"

Istas cleared Abby's hand from hers and started her bike up again.

"Izzy!" Abby replied exhaustedly.

"I'm serious, Istas. We do need you," Alaric said loudly, trying to get his voice over the sound of the engine.

"And why's that?" asked Istas coldly.

Alaric looked downward and shuffled his feet momentarily until he lifted his head up again and smiled kindly at Abby.

"Abby, I'm sorry but do you mind if I speak to Istas alone, please?"

Abby gave a look of surprise before she nodded in acquiescence, looking at Istas one final time before she quietly left the scene and returned to the bus.

Alaric waited until he felt that Abby was out of hearing range before he continued. He smiled at Istas and then looked at the bike, raising his eyebrows, silently asking if Istas could be so kind as to turn the engine off.

Istas puckered her lips while turning the ignition off. She leaned back on her bike and crossed her arms, waiting for Alaric to say his piece.

Alaric turned his head and motioned towards the direction that Abby had just gone to. "She cares about you a lot."

"Yeah. Sometimes she cares a bit too much, but that's family for ya."

Alaric's eyebrows furrowed. "You're related?"

"Somewhat. We're like distant cousins, a thousand times removed or something like that. That's what I've been told. But she takes that connection to heart."

"More than you do?"

Istas breathed in and then exhaled deeply. "Is this what you wanted to talk about in private? About me and Abby?"

Alaric walked towards Istas. "No. I wanted to say that you were right."

Istas beamed a smile. "Really? Must've been hard to admit that."

"Not really. You see, my ego isn't so big that I can't admit when I'm wrong."

Istas nodded while smirking. It was a decent shot that Alaric made.

"But as I said, you were right."

"About what?"

"About me being somewhat of a hypocrite. Back at the mansion, when I wouldn't kill Damon or let you kill him. It was true—I couldn't do what I said for you and Caroline to do."

"Well, I'm glad that you can admit that. But you didn't ask Abby to leave simply for a private confessional. So what do you want?"

Alaric shifted his hands into his pockets and began pacing back and forth.

"What we're up against is something that threatens more than just Mystic Falls. It's bigger than anything that I've ever faced, and I'm willing to bet it's bigger than anything you've ever faced as well."

Istas confirmed Alaric's assumption with a sigh. "I'll give you that. I overheard your little pep talk to the troops. Demonic possession is no joke."

Alaric stopped pacing. "You've dealt with it before?"

"Not me, but my tribe's medicine woman, Nancy. She's participated in some cases here and there. She has a friend in New Orleans—a Catholic priest who will often call on her whenever he has what he suspects is a case of demonic possession."

"Do you think she'd be willing to help us here?"

"No need to twist her arm. I'm sure she already knows what's going on here and will probably be making an appearance soon, if not for that then to check up on me," Istas replied somewhat contemptuously.

"You don't care much for her?"

Istas eyebrow lifted. "I love her. I've known her ever since she was born. And I'm not about to explain my many relationships to the likes of you so get the point—what do you want from me?"

Alaric nodded and continued pacing. "Two things. First, we need you because we need your skills. You're highly trained, and you've proven your worth in a fight. And we can use that. But more than that, I need your ability to—"

He stopped pacing again and looked off into the night sky. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply before he continued.

"—to do what I and the others cannot do. You said it yourself, you don't know Damon. You don't know Bonnie. You don't know Vicki. Out of all of us, you're the only one that can kill them if that's what it comes down to."

Istas uncrossed her arms and sat up straight. "You want me to kill them?"

"As a last resort!" Alaric snapped. "I want to do everything we can to save them and exorcise whatever it is that's inside of them. But I recognize that whatever they're doing in Mystic Falls is just a small glimpse of what they will do in the rest of the world. They're more powerful than any supernatural creature that I've ever met. They make the Mikaelsons look like the Partridge Family in terms of the potential for brutality and bloodshed. The world has suffered tremendously under the threat of vampires. It will not survive this!"

"That's quite a gloomy picture you paint. Other than the moral obligation and righteous duty on my part to help you save the world, what's in it for me? As you can tell, I don't play well with others, especially with the two who helped kill my sister! So why should I put up with any of you?"

"Vicki Donovan is a recent addition to the scene. She's Matt's sister, turned into a vampire by Damon and was later killed. She was a resident of the Other Side but was sucked into some kind of void before the Other Side collapsed, as did a bunch of other people. Now she's back and seemingly possessed. That means that those who were on the Other Side are potentially being subjected to the same process of possession."

Alaric walked closer to the front of Istas' motorcycle and leaned in over the handlebars. "Which means that for all we know, your sister may very well show up in the same condition!"

Istas leaned forward until her face was mere inches away from Alaric's. "Watch it there, Ken doll! That's my sister you're talking about!"

"My point exactly. If she shows up possessed, then you're going to want to save her. And even if she doesn't, she's still trapped in some unknown dimension. If we can somehow save Bonnie, Damon and Vicki, they might be able to tell us where she and others like her are. I doubt you'll get that kind of intel anywhere else. Isn't that incentive enough?"

Istas' eyes shifted as she digested Alaric's words. She leaned back on her bike again and glared at Alaric cynically.

"You're obviously the one everyone looks to for leadership, but I don't. If you think I'm going to start taking orders from you, you better think again."

Alaric leaned back from the handlebars until he was upright and sighed. "This isn't the military. I'm not looking for soldiers, I'm looking for partners. I'm not looking for your subservience, I'm looking for your cooperation. Just like we've been doing this whole time."

"You got in my way when I was trying to kill Damon before. That wasn't cool. How do you expect me to do what I'm supposed to do if you or the others get in my way?"

Alaric's expression became brooding. "I don't apologize for doing that. For all the things that Damon has done, from turning my wife into a vampire to snapping my neck to everything else, he's still a friend that I'm going to go to the ends of the Earth to save. All I ask of you is to take into consideration that these are people who mean as much to us as your sister means to you. Put yourself in our shoes before making that killing blow."

Istas stared down at her bike, drumming her fingers on her thigh, weighing the pros and cons of the offer that Alaric had put before her.

"You said you wanted two things. What's the other one?" she asked.

"You and Jeremy were the only ones unaffected by Damon's compulsion when we first met them at the town border. Jeremy is a Brotherhood of the Five Hunter and therefore is magically imbued with that ability to resist compulsion. How did you gain that ability?"

"Some stuff I learned while in Tibet. Why?"

"Is it complicated? Can you teach the rest of us?"

"It would take time—time that we apparently don't have. Besides, why not use vervain?"

"I'm skeptical if that will work," Alaric replied, beginning his pacing again. "It might, but Damon's powers have been enhanced to such a degree that I'm worried that vervain might not be enough. I'd rather have something that's been proven to be effective."

"Well," Istas said, shrugging her shoulders. "I don't know what to tell you. Vervain is the best chance you have because I can't teach all of you how to do it."

"Maybe you can," Alaric said, stopping his pacing and facing Istas. "I can read your mind and extract the experience and the technique. I could then implant that technique in the minds of the others."

Istas' face hardened as she whipped her left leg over her bike and dismounted before marching towards Alaric.

"You will MOST CERTAINLY NOT GET INTO MY HEAD!" Istas fumed. "THAT IS COMPETELY OUT OF THE QUESTION!"

"Like you said, we don't have time. We can't go in against Damon and the others while being vulnerable to compulsion. This is our only option."

"Think of another! You're out of your mind if you think I'm letting you into mine!"

"It's not what you think. I won't read the entirety of your life. You just have to think of the experience and the technique specifically, and that is the only thing I will extract."

"Says you! You can kiss my cooperation and my help goodbye," Istas replied, turning on her heel and marching back towards her bike.

"Istas, please!"

"Stop pushing it, Alaric!" Istas warned with her back towards him, raising her hand to accentuate the threat. "Otherwise, you're going to start eating concrete!"

Alaric took a step forward towards her. "Istas, I'm pleading here. Let me—"

Istas pushed off the sole of her left foot and flew backwards, twisting her body clockwise at the same time to give her right fist even more power. She swung at Alaric's head with a back fist that would have floored an elephant.

However, despite her impressive speed and the efficiency of her technique, Alaric was ready. Using his superior speed, he ducked Istas' swinging arm and immediately checked it with his left hand after he was in the clear. He rammed his right hand, which was carrying a vervain dart, into her stomach.

She was already following up her first attack with a left haymaker punch but it started to lose steam quickly once she looked down at the dart sticking out of her stomach.

"You son of a biiiii—" Istas slurred as her eyes rolled back and finally closed, her body becoming limp and falling forward into Alaric's arms.

"I'm sorry, Istas. But you're not leaving me much of a choice here," Alaric said to her unconscious body. He hoisted her over his left shoulder and made his way back to the bus to join the others.


	3. TVD S6 - Part 2 Ch3

_Ain't It Fun_

"OH…MY…GOD!" squealed Jennifer. "What are you doing?!"

"I told you it would be good!" replied Lisa, giggling.

"Yeah, it is! So keep going!"

"I need a break," Lisa said, stretching as she stood up off the couch. She reached up and readjusted the pins that held her dark, brunette hair together. "I can't believe you've never watched this show."

Jennifer groaned in disappointment as the Gilmour Girls episode remained frozen on the TV screen. She was almost tempted to reach over and grab the remote from Lisa and unpause the show but realized that she needed a break too.

"Well, I am now and I want to see what happens. But if you're going to pause it—fine! I need to go use the bathroom anyways," she said, straightening out her blue pyjamas as she got up. "Don't take any of my chips!"

"—*sigh*— As if I'm going to take your chips!" replied Lisa, smirking. "Besides, it bothers me that you're even eating those while we're watching this. You know I'm trying to lose weight for my wedding day!"

"Excuse me?" Jennifer replied coyly. "I can't help it if you have no discipline."

"Discipline?! You're like a stick and you never gain weight, no matter what crap you eat!" Lisa answered. "I'd kill to have your metabolism."

Jennifer laughed as she wrapped up her dirty blonde hair into a ponytail. She disappeared into the bathroom as Lisa went to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. She was about to open the fridge when someone knocked at the front door.

"WHO IS THAT?" bellowed Jennifer from the bathroom.

"I don't know," Lisa answered, almost to herself rather than to Jennifer. She looked at the clock and wondered who could be knocking at such a late hour of the night. She straightened out her white night gown, took a quick glance in the hallway mirror, somewhat mortified by how unpresentable she looked, before answering the door.

"Helloooo," greeted Damon, beaming a wide smile, his ocean blue eyes twinkling in the glare of the front porchlight.

"Uh…hi. Can I help you?" Lisa replied, as she preened her bundled up hair.

"Yes, perhaps you can. See, my friends and I are in a bit of a pickle. We—"

"Hey, what's going on?" asked Jennifer as she joined Lisa at the front door.

"Ahhh, Jennifer! The lady of the house," Damon rejoiced. "Just the woman I needed to see."

"Excuse me, do I know you?" asked Jennifer, confused.

"No, but now I know you…and Lisa. Ssssseeeee, I read your minds," Damon replied in a matter-of-fact tone. "With this annoying Traveler spell down, we can now augment the powers of our vampire hosts to such amazing degrees. I mean…check it out! I don't even have to look into your eyes to compel you do anything. I can just THINK it!"

Jennifer and Lisa looked at each other in bewilderment. Jennifer suddenly blinked as though she had woken up from a trance. "Uh...please, why don't you and your friends come in?"

She didn't know why she asked Damon to come in. She didn't want him to come in. She wanted to close the door in his face and call the police. She stood confused as she felt her mind clashing against her will, compelled to step back to allow Damon, along with Valene and Vicki who appeared out of nowhere, to enter the house.

As the trio entered, Lisa and Jennifer started to quiver with panic as Valene and Vicki drew closer, their demonic eyes and vampire fangs already on full display.

"Ain't it fun when you know that you're going to die young?" asked Vicki.

"It's such fun!" replied Valene.

Lisa and Jennifer wanted to run away but once again felt their wills not following the instructions from their minds.

"HEY!" bellowed Bonnie from the bottom steps of the house. "Make this quick. We don't have all night!"

Damon smirked as he turned to Bonnie. "Actually…we do! You see, we kind of got a strange rush from being with the Sheriff. I've realized that there's more to this than just ripping out throats and chugging back blood. We forgot about the revelry! Besides, what are you afraid of?"

Bonnie walked up to Damon and sized him up. "Do not underestimate Elena and her friends from interfering. They still pose a threat."

"Do they now?" Damon asked, grinning. "Or perhaps your host's sensibilities are interfering with your ability to have fun!"

"We've come to appreciate Bonnie's sensibilities. It is what will enable our plan to work," Bonnie replied. "Damon's overconfidence is what will be our undoing!"

"All work and no play, my dear," Damon said as he took off his leather jacket and started unbuttoning his shirt. He turned around and looked at Lisa and Jennifer. "Oh, ladies? If you please…things are going to get a bit messy and it's best if you have no clothes on."

The two young women looked at each other in confusion and fear as they began undoing their hair and then taking off their pyjamas, still unsure as to why or how they were being manipulated into doing as Damon had asked. Vicki and Valene smiled at each other and began undressing too while Damon returned his attention to Bonnie.

"Listen, why don't you use Bonnie's sensibilities to a better use and find a way to open the gateway?" Damon asked in a patronizing tone. "The V-ladies and I won't take forever, even though we have forever to work with. But we are going to have some fun. And as far as Elena and her friends are concerned…what can they do? They'd be stupid to try and face us now. The Ripper will emerge and we'll have yet another ally. The Traveler spell is down and we are free to roam. With a little coaxing, we're sure we can bring that Parker witch to our side. Things are looking up! So stop trying to bring it all down with your cynicism!"

"Caution!" Bonnie hissed. "Not cynicism! Besides, you forget about Enzo and the Master's Kingdom!"

Damon grabbed the back of Bonnie's head and pulled her close, passionately kissing her. Bonnie opened her mouth wider, allowing Damon to plunge his tongue deeper into her mouth. Her own tongue swirled and tussled against his, their teeth lightly scraping together, their saliva mixing and splashing like waves crashing in the ocean. Damon lightly sucked on her bottom lip before finally pulling away. Bonnie opened her eyes and glared at Damon with a look of sultriness before, in one deft motion that Damon could not anticipate, she slapped him hard across the face.

"Like we said, your overconfidence may be our undoing," Bonnie said, leering before turning around and walking down the front porch stairs.

Damon chuckled as he stroked the side of his face. "And like we said, you need to learn to have some fun."

He turned and went inside the house and closed the door. With the four women all completely naked, Damon approached Lisa and Jennifer. They were already crying, trembling as they each tried to cover up their privates with their arms and hands.

Damon smiled as he finished taking off his shirt, his chiseled pecks and abs marred by the grey and cracked skin that covered them. He stroked the cheeks of the two women with each hand, thoughtfully wiping away the tears that streamed down both their faces.

"Now, ladies. It's okay to be afraid. You should be because we're going to be oh so violent with you. It's going to be gory. It's going to be excruciating. Fun for us, not so much for you," Damon said in a calm and casual tone. "What else can we be, other than inhuman, because we aren't human? But rest assured, when it's all over, you'll be rewarded. You'll be like usssss! But that's a blessing that must be earned. And you haven't earned it yet."

He vamp-sped behind Lisa and lightly grasped several strands of her dark chestnut hair in his left hand. "A brunette! We've always had a thing for brunettes. Damon loved one once, ya know. He was obsessed with another. Love! It truly is a cruel thing."

Damon reached around with his other hand and roughly grabbed Lisa's right breast. He massaged and kneaded the fleshy mammary like a baker with dough. He flicked at her nipple with his index finger, feeling it becoming hard in response. He sensed her body had begun to cease quivering and he didn't like it.

He scrunched the hair in his hand and pulled back hard, causing Lisa to yelp in pain. "That's it! Scream…cry…wail away. It's rather—stimulating!"

He started to squeeze her breast so hard that his fingernails penetrated the skin and drew blood. Lisa cried as she felt like he was going to squeeze it so hard that he would rip her breast clean off.

He let go of her and shoved her to the ground. His demon eyes were shining lustrously as his fangs made their appearance and a bulge materialized in his pants. He turned his attention to Jennifer, who was shaking and crying so badly that a small trickle of urine ran down her leg. Damon chuckled as he sneered at her.

"Pl—pleas—please, take—ta—take what you—want. Jus—just leave us—alone. Ple—please, for G—God's sake," Jennifer whimpered as she continued to quiver with terror.

"God?" Damon asked, raising an eyebrow. "God is Love."

He grabbed at her throat and pulled her face next to his.

"We don't love you, Jennifer!" he growled.

Damon threw her into Vicki who grabbed Jennifer by the throat and hoisted her into the air. She carried her over to the kitchen table. Valene cleared the table of dirty dishes and clutter while Vicki choke-slammed her victim onto the hard surface. Jennifer coughed as she grasped at her throat and wanted to run from the table until she looked at Valene and felt compelled to remain lying still.

"No, _mi hija_ ," replied Valene, standing beside and looking at Jennifer, lightly stroking her hair back with a tenderness that horribly contradicted the look of disdain on her face. "You're not going anywhere!"

Valene gently grasped Jennifer's hand and put it on her right breast. She directed Jennifer's fingers to rub and circle along the dark areola, causing her nipple to harden. Jennifer's cold fingers quivered as she watched Valene close her eyes and moan. She could see goosebumps appearing all over her brown, tanned skin. Jennifer thought it weird that Valene appeared different than the others, save for the look of her eyes and teeth. Her skin appeared normal and alive, compared to the others whose skin looked dead.

Vicki bent over and enveloped Jennifer's own right breast in her mouth. Jennifer jumped as Vicki flicked at her right nipple with her tongue. Jennifer's breasts were very small, so Vicki was able to take the whole of her breast in her mouth and began sucking on it. Jennifer closed her eyes and turned her head away, gaining no pleasure from the physical stimulation, sensing that they were merely toying with her. She was breathing hard and when she opened her eyes, she began to see her own breath. Somehow, the temperature in the room had seemingly dropped significantly. Add to that the strange stench coming off of Vicki, along with her ghastly appearance, and the entire experience was coloured with dread. She knew that she was at their mercy, and at the same time she could sense that they had none.

Valene opened her eyes and looked at Jennifer, coyly smiling as she noted Jennifer's anxiety had not abated.

"Oh, sweetheart," Valene said while putting Jennifer's hand down from her breast. She turned around and pulled a large butcher's knife out of a knife block. She lightly scraped the tip of the blade along Jennifer's torso, tracing it around her left breast and nipple, around and around until it reached her belly button. There, Valene twirled the tip of the blade lightly in the hole. She grinned wildly as her eyes glowed ever brighter as she heard Jennifer's heartbeat pick up significantly. "Tell me something…ever make love to a knife before?"

Damon grabbed Lisa by the hair and pulled her into the living room as she wailed and cried, kicking in the air while gripping his wrist to try and alleviate the pain. He arrived to the couch and paused as he saw the still image on the TV.

"Rory was so annoying!" Damon commented as he threw the couch at the TV, both objects crashing into the side of wall. He let go of Lisa's hair and let her drop to the floor. She trembled as she curled up into a fetal position.

"Hey. It's alright, Lisa," Damon said softly as he knelt down and parted away the curtain of hair that covered her face. "It's like the Good Book says, 'weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning!'"

Damon stood and looked upwards, smiled and winked. He looked down and stared at Lisa's face as his demeanor softened.

"Such beauty. Such splendour. Such grace. Such a divine creation!"

As she lifted her head to look up at Damon, he hammered her back down with a wicked punch to the side of her face, cracking her cheekbone.

"How WE HATE YOU!" Damon snarled. The softness on his face turned to malice and abhorrence in an instant while his eyes glowed as bright as a nuclear explosion.

He grabbed Lisa by the front of her shins and lifted her up. She felt compelled not to struggle as her arms and hair all dangled down to the floor. She squealed as she felt her groin muscles being ripped apart by the sudden splitting of her legs. She sobbed as Damon held her by her legs in a T-shape, her genitals parallel to his eyes. She suddenly heard malignant laughter and gaiety coming from the kitchen. It sounded like a multitude of people whose voices didn't sound like the voices she had heard before from Valene and Vicki.

The laughter was quickly joined by the horrifying sound of Jennifer's screaming.

 _Soul Corruption_

Damon's eyes shuttered open. He was breathing heavily, his torso rising up and down at a rhythm that would match any Olympic sprinter having just run a 100 yard dash. He felt cold, as the sweat on his body made contact with the air in the room. His hair was drenched and sticking to his scalp. He wanted to wipe off the dampness that covered his face and kept seeping into his eyes, causing him to blink incessantly but found he couldn't move his arms.

Once his eyes stopped blinking, he began looking around and realized that he was back in the mirror room. He half closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, trying to get his heartbeat back to normal and the rest of his body back from its excited state.

He felt exhausted for some reason, yet strangely satisfied and relaxed. In his naked and sweaty state, he felt exactly as he would after having had sex, feeling as though he had just come off an exhilarated high that left him drained yet gratified.

As he tried to figure out why he felt that way, he closed his eyes to try and recall the moments that led to his current state. Images began appearing in his mind's eye—images of women that he didn't know, and one that he did. He could see a brunette and a blonde woman, another woman with whom he was seemingly gaining more familiarity with yet he didn't really know her. Finally there was a woman who looked like Vicki Donovan.

Those images were quickly replaced by a cluttered montage of violence and torture the likes of which Damon had never seen or even thought was possible. His head involuntarily jerked at every cut that was made, at every bone that was broken, at every punch that was thrown, at every wound that was licked, at every bite that was taken, at every drop of blood that was drunk, at every injury was that was inflicted, at every scream and cry of pain and agony made by the blonde and brunette, at every smile and at every jolt of enjoyment experienced by him and the other two vampires. With each and every act of brutality that he and Vicki and Valene committed, a wave of ecstasy drowned his consciousness, ignited his senses and enraptured his soul. It was like a sexual charge, a drug high, and the euphoria a vampire gets from drinking blood, all rolled up into a large dose of pure bliss.

Damon opened his eyes in a panic. His heartbeat had picked up again and he shivered as a fresh sheen of sweat formed on his body. His breathing intensified as he blinked repeatedly, trying to banish the images from his mind. As he looked around the room, he noticed himself in the ceiling mirror and was shocked with what he saw.

He was aroused. He lifted his head up as best he could and looked down the length of his body to confirm what the mirror had reflected to him. He dropped his head back down and looked back up in the mirror. For the first time in his life as a vampire, he felt disgusted for becoming aroused at the sight and experience of inflicting pain and torment on another human being. While he could freely admit that he had put his fair share of victims through some kind of torment while he fed on them, he always rationalized his enjoyment as it simply being a part of the vampire experience. Drinking human blood was necessary and euphoric, though he hadn't always relished in the experience.

During his first years into the life of a vampire, he fed on human blood as a means of nourishment, not enjoyment. It was the vampire Sage, his first teacher, who taught him to relish in the experience of the hunt and the feeding on a human victim, especially women.

"A woman isn't just for food, she's for pleasure," Damon remembered Sage saying to him once. Much like a human might relish in a good steak dinner or savour a cold beer on a hot summer's day, so too was a vampire obligated to savour in the pleasurable sensations that came with feeding on human blood. They were not to feel guilty for it as Stefan always seemed to do. For as Sage once rhetorically asked Damon, "what is being a vampire if not relishing in the pleasure of it?"

But what he was seeing and feeling this time was different. While there was indeed a fine line between pain and pleasure, between hedonism and sadism, Damon knew that the images that were flashing in his mind were pure sadism borne of hate in its richest form. It was gaining pleasure from the sheer and unnecessary torture of another human being.

Damon breathed out slowly. He felt there was something else that was lining the experience. The feeling of satisfaction and contentment wasn't coming from the torture itself, at least not all of it. It was coming from the marring and desecration of something beautiful, innocent and pure; like taking a paint spray can to the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, or skinning alive a Labrador puppy, or beating a child to death. The act itself is what brought the most gratification. But he wasn't feeling it directly, but rather someone else, some other entity that was enjoying the experience and feeding that enjoyment to him. Like a mother bird feeding its chicks by shoving its beak down the chick's throat, so too did Damon feel the Sovereignty shoving the pleasure of mutilating that which was deemed a symbol of the heavenly into his mind and soul.

He closed his own eyes and clenched them tight, along with his teeth. The images kept returning along with the blissful sensations. He tried his best to banish them but found himself lingering on the images as the sensations became even stronger, while at the same time he found the struggle to fight painful. Not pain in a physical or emotional sense, but in a very abstract sense. There was something there threatening him, not with words but with a sense of loss — if he continued to struggle, he would miss out on paradise itself, even though that paradise was made up of pure debauchery and cruelty. He had spent the majority of his 150 years as a vampire giving in to his hedonistic desires. He was not used to fighting the desire for pleasure. He realized then and there that he was at a disadvantage in this fight and was losing because of it.

 _Stefan._

At that moment, Damon couldn't help but think of his little brother who had spent the majority of his own vampire life fighting the pleasures of being a vampire. Damon always thought him weaker for it, that Stefan merely lacked the resilience and self-control to temper his vampire urges to keep himself from going full on Ripper. However, as Damon felt himself being dragged to the edge of darkness, the scraping and abrasions along the length of his soul feeling ever more exquisite the harder and faster he was dragged, the more he realized the real strength Stefan possessed to fight off the desire to give in to his lusts. Over a century of giving in left Damon defenseless.

As the images continued to flash in his mind, he saw himself holding strands of dark, brunette locks that flowed and fell from his hand. He immediately thought of Elena—her hair, her face, her smile. Suddenly, like cockroaches fleeing a light shining upon them, the horrific images that were bombarding his cognizance seemed to flee and fade into the darkness. Feelings of warmth and love soon replaced the tainted ecstasy that he was feeling before. Damon felt calm, content and at peace. For a brief moment, he became enveloped in that same feeling of pure love and affection that he felt the first time Elena kissed him. Though that experience was lined with chaos from him suffering a werewolf bite thanks to Tyler Lockwood, it was the first time that he realized the distinction between love and lust, between enduring love and obsessive yearning, between what Elena represented and what Katherine represented. He would revisit that feeling many times over as he and Elena's relationship developed, with him finally arriving at that conscious level of what it meant to experience _agape_ or selfless love, that purest form of love that is free from desires and expectations and loves regardless of the flaws and shortcomings of others. Though he was never a religious person by any stretch of the imagination, he wondered if indeed he touched what many would regard as the Divine when he loved Elena.

As he continued to immerse himself in that feeling of purity, he could feel something change in the atmosphere around his mind and soul. There was a sense of extreme sorrow, pain and jealousy, as though Damon's memories and feelings of Elena and their love were somehow hurting the Sovereignty. For a brief moment, Damon could empathize. His memories suddenly morphed into another moment from his past, a potent moment he would never forget that turned love and passion into animosity—that moment when Katherine told him that she never loved him and that instead she loved Stefan.

Damon had been willing to put aside all the hurt, all the pain, all the torment, and all the time he waited to see her emerge from a tomb that she was never in, all for a drop of her reciprocated love that would quench over 100 years of thirst that he had endured for her. Instead, she scorched his soul by doing the one thing she rarely did—she told him the truth. She said she didn't love him, never did and never would and that she loved Stefan instead. For as much as he had steeled himself over the years, made himself cold to any kind of emotional attachment save for the love of his little brother, her words pierced him in a part of his heart that he thought he had killed years ago.

As he lingered on the memory, it soon morphed into another, to when Elena had done the exact same thing. During the time that Klaus nearly died at Alaric's hand, thereby killing all who were of his vampire line like Damon and Stefan, Damon had phoned Elena and asked her straight which one she chose between Stefan and himself. His heart once again broke at the sound of Stefan's name coming through the earpiece.

"It was always going to be Stefan," he remembered himself saying. He remembered all those feelings of love and affection quickly turning to anger and animosity. It was his defense mechanism, to mask the pain of rejection and drown it with anger and violence.

 _Yesssss! Anger makes you dominant! Hatred will keep you safe! Love is the ultimate source of pain. Exist without it and you will never be hurt again. We know. You are one of us. We will graciously show you!_

Damon didn't hear their voices but rather he felt like the words were being transmitted directly into his mind. But it was confusing. He honestly didn't know if it was the Sovereignty speaking to him or his own conscience—not that he recognized that voice either.

He clenched his fists along with his teeth. He decided that it was the Sovereignty that were attempting to manipulate him, making him accept their presence in his mind and soul, attempting to restore the anger and hatred he once used as fuel to get through life. Ironically, he began to get angry at the thought of them controlling his emotions.

"I'm not like you! That's all in the past. I love her and nothing is going to—"

 _Love fades. It is an artifice to bring others into submission…to be used as a crutch. In time, it disappears. There is no such thing as unconditional love._

"You're wrong. She and I, we got it!"

 _Do you? And if she were to return to Stefan in your absence, what then?_

"Nice try, but Stefan and I have played this game before. You're wasting your time."

 _As are you if you think you can deceive us. You have spent the better part of your existence resenting him for being the favoured one. Your father chose him over you. Katherine chose him over you. Elena chose him over you. Even your pathetic friends in Mystic Falls would all choose Stefan over you! And with good reason._

"You think that's news to me? And besides, you're wrong about Elena. She did choose me."

 _She chose and loved Stefan unconditionally once too. And look what happened! It ended. It faded. The irony that it was you who caused their separation cannot be lost. What makes you think she won't do the same to you?_

"Honestly? Anything is possible. I never doubted that."

 _But you have your doubts, don't you? Your love isn't special. It's pedestrian. We've seen countless who have had the love that you believe you share and it all crumbled to dust in the wake of Time and Trouble!_

"Like I care about others. You believe what you want but for all I've done, she—"

 _She fell for you because of the sire bond…and pity!_

"Shut it!"

 _Your vision of her is as flawed as is your vision of the love you think you share. She is like Katherine._

"She is not Katherine! She's nothing like Katherine!"

 _She is a shadow self of Amara. The shadow mimics. It imitates its host's actions. Always! Not only in appearance, but in manner. Like Amara, like Katherine, she will betray. She will betray you as Amara betrayed those she loved. She will betray as Katherine betrayed so many in her life. She will betray you as she betrayed Stefan. As a doppelganger, it is in her nature to betray._

"She is NOT Katherine!"

 _She looks like her, walks like her, talks like her. Lovely little duck! After all, isn't that why you fell for her in the first place?_

Damon did not respond.

 _Of course it is. Surely you see the futility of it all. You are not special enough to disrupt the Traveler spell that Markos set. The doppelgangers have congregated together for centuries. It is their fate. Stefan and Elena will always be together. Your relationship is but a momentary diversion. Why delude yourself into believing otherwise?_

Damon instinctively breathed in as he felt a familiar void opening up in his heart. In the back of his mind, he knew that he and Elena were perhaps only temporary, that what they had was not meant to last forever. In many ways, he preferred it that way. As a vampire, time was always on his side and therefore he never looked beyond the moment because he knew he had an eternity of moments before him. As opposed to Elena, who looked farther down the road as to where her life and relationships might go, he preferred to live in the now. Not before being with Elena did he really think about his future and about what might come to pass. And even with Elena, he didn't focus that much on it and he wasn't about to start now.

"I'll take the momentary diversion with Elena and make it last forever. You think I haven't thought about it all ending tomorrow? I've—"

 _Your posturing is dubious._ _It HAS ended! You're with us now. But we know what you feel. We know what it is to be forsaken for the love of another. We know what it is to be brushed aside like refuse. We know how utterly horrible Love can truly be. It does not conquer all. It does not last forever. It guarantees to leave pain and misery in its wake. It is more devastating that anything we could ever inflict upon humanity. It is a curse. That is why we will never forsake you! The Sovereignty will always be with you. Love is not forever but we are! We understand you! We are like you and you are like us. We are kindred. We adore you. We—_

"You love me?"

It was the natural road that their seeming attraction was taking. Damon had been there before, both on the receiving end and on the giving end of such infatuation. He knew what it was to be so attracted to someone that it got to the point that it masqueraded as love. So too did he feel that from others, whether it was through a sire bond or some other avenue of delusion. It was a road that the Sovereignty was seemingly and confusingly taking with him. He had to admit that if he indeed was stuck in a bizarre dimension for all time with the Sovereignty, he'd rather they looked on him with favour rather than with disdain. His experience with the Augustine Society, being their guinea pig and enduring years of torture from their experiments, was not something he wanted to go through again, especially for an eternity. But he also felt uncomfortable with where they wanted to take him because it was a place seemingly absent of love, or at least a love that he had known. The Sovereignty's own version of 'love' was darkly perverted and Damon was not attracted to it, particularly because he knew what real love actually looked like. It was difficult to accept the contradiction of a race 'loving' him when they themselves abhorred love in all its forms.

There seemed to be a silence within the silence as Damon felt he had somehow checkmated his opponents. Indeed, he felt an air of amusement and concession around him as though the Sovereignty had acknowledged that their attraction for him was leading down a path that flew in the face of what they had just claimed about love. He felt their presence fade into the background, seemingly out of his mind as the atmosphere of hatred and anger seemed to dissipate. The images stopped flashing in his mind and he felt compelled to open his eyes.

He squinted as his eyes got used to the brightness of the room. After blinking several times, his eyes got into focus and he looked into the ceiling mirror and saw Bonnie lying beside him. A sense of relief and even joy quickly came over him when he glanced at her. He surprised himself that he should feel such comfort and contentment at seeing Bonnie. The feelings seemed strangely immaculate when compared to his recent conversation with alien darkness.

However, his feelings of comfort changed quickly to concern as he scrutinized her face. Her eyes were closed, her brow were furrowing constantly. She gritted her teeth while beads of sweat had begun to form on her skin. Her body kept twitching, her hands opening and closing, her breathing being heavy at times and then relaxed at others. Every so often, she'd let out a gasp or a moan.

Damon had slept with enough women to know when one was experiencing an orgasm. He prided himself on having brought many a woman to that point multiple times. Therefore, he could tell that Bonnie was going through them right before his eyes. And though he immediately became aroused at the sight and sound of it, he was sensing another feeling…an all too familiar feeling. It was one that he had just experienced with the Sovereignty.

And now it seemed to be coming from Bonnie.


	4. TVD S6 - Part 2 Ch4

_Making Love to Hate_

Mystic Falls' denizens were in the midst of their nocturnal slumber, blissfully unaware that Tartarus' Gates had been breached and that an evil, one that far predated mankind, was now freely roaming their streets. The quiet, Virginia town was to be ground zero—the gateway through which a malevolent annexation would be unleashed that would see the Earth's inhabitants changed forever. Prophecies had been written about it, warnings had been given, and visions had been seen of the oncoming devastation by a select few…and yet no one listened. No heavenly army, no satanic legion, no human regime would prevent such forecasts of desolation from being realized. The Sovereignty would see to it that victory was theirs.

Bonnie walked with her eyes half closed through the quiet, deserted street under the blanket of night. She was headed towards the gateway, the pentagram that had seen Mason and Vicki return to the living world, and one that Liv Parker had seemingly closed. There could be no annexation, no devastation, and no victory if the gateway to the Abyss could not even be opened. Bonnie was intent on finding a way to bring the rest of the Sovereignty into the living world and to begin the assault.

As she marched down the middle of the road, a snarl began to form on her lips. She began twitching at every sound of laughter. She clenched her teeth at every sensation of entertainment. She breathed in deeply at every scream, wail and cry that Lisa and Jennifer were making. She was sensing the gaiety and pleasure that Damon, Vicki and Valene were experiencing from torturing the two girls, albeit in a very abstract manner, like echoes in the wind. Even the taste of the girl's blood was becoming palpable on her tongue. Sensing the unrestrained delight that Damon and the others were enjoying while she dutifully carried on with their mission was becoming highly annoying.

Bonnie reached the town square and stopped. She closed her eyes and breathed in deep, attempting to shutter out the sensations coming from Damon and the others. She focused on the smell of the night, the sounds of the crickets chirping, coyotes distantly howling, and the loud snores from the man sleeping on a nearby bench.

She opened her eyes and turned to the direction of the incongruous sound. She was surprised to see that indeed there was a man sleeping on a bench underneath one of the town square's street lamps. She walked over to him, analyzing his clothes. He was dressed in blue jeans, a dark coat and a white t-shirt and white sneakers. Though he didn't look dishevelled, it seemed that he had dressed somewhat in a hurry. Once she reached him, she leaned over his head and gently pulled back the collar that covered his face. He was clean shaven and was did not appear scruffy in the slightest. She could even smell cologne on him. He was a young African American man in his mid-thirties if Bonnie had to guess at his age. She reached over and lightly traced his jawline with her finger as she looked over his body.

The man jostled slightly at Bonnie's touch and then turned his body upwards. The glare of the street lamp on his eyelids was strong enough that he opened his eyes, repeatedly blinking while trying to get accustomed to the glare. When his eyes came into more focus and he saw Bonnie staring at him, he startled and immediately sat up.

"Whoa! What…what," the man stammered breathlessly as he looked at Bonnie and then looking around. He swallowed hard as he tried to catch his breath.

"Hey, easy there," Bonnie gently said, reaching out and touching him on his arm while crouched in front of him. She began scrutinizing his face further, moving her head like a bird as she tilted it from left to right, her green eyes wide and curious. Judging from his chiseled jaw and smooth, coffee coloured skin tone, he seemed relatively slim if not athletic. He had what looked like a military haircut, with the sides and back shaved with very little black hair on top. Bonnie took that as proof that he wasn't homeless, or if he was, it had only recently happened. She looked at his eyes and was astonished to see that they were green like hers. It was strange that she herself had green eyes since neither her father nor mother had them. She was told that it was a family trait that perhaps skipped some generations. But the only other person of African American descent that she had ever known who had green eyes like her was Abby's adopted son.

"Jamie!" Bonnie blurted out.

"Excuse me?" the man replied, confused.

Bonnie looked at him further. She realized that he indeed looked a little like Jamie, the teenager who Abby had taken in as her own son after a failed relationship with his father. Bonnie herself had had a brief romantic dalliance with him, despite the fact that she was somewhat jealous of him for being the one that Abby chose to stay with and raise as her own son after she left Bonnie to her Grams and father. But he eventually left her as well, deciding he didn't want to be a part of her supernatural world after a rather unpleasant experience with Klaus. The man before her looked older and more rugged than Jamie, which strangely added more sex appeal to him.

"You look like Jamie," Bonnie said, almost derisively.

"Yeah, well, I'm not," the man replied, wiping his eyes, trying to shake off his recent slumber.

"So who are you?"

"What…are you a cop?" the man asked defiantly.

"Do I look like a cop?" Bonnie asked with a hint of sultriness as she put her hands on his thighs.

"Whoa! Hey, I—," the man said, his head instinctively moving back as he got a better look at Bonnie under the light of the street lamp. She didn't look right to him. He conceded that she was beautiful but looked sickly, almost dead.

"Hey, are you alright?" he asked as he continued to look over her face.

"We're fine now, Jeremiah," Bonnie said, her eyes widening while she flashed a wide grin.

The man shuffled on the bench away from Bonnie and stood up, backing away from her out of fright from both the maniacal look on her face and the fact that she had deduced his name.

"How—how did you—"

"Your name? We just know. Some things we know," Bonnie replied, standing up and tilting her head and looking at him while she continued to smile. "We like that name—Jeremiah. Sounds like Jeremy. But do tell…why are you sleeping on this bench?"

The man looked on the ground and reached for his bag that was underneath the bench. "Look, I don't know who you are but I'll just be—"

"You're not going anywhere!"

Bonnie reached out her hand towards him. He suddenly stood upright and perfectly still, like a soldier at attention. He looked down at his body and grunted, desperately struggling to move.

"What?! What the hell? —*ugh*— What—"

"Now answer my question. Why are you sleeping on this bench?"

The man continued to struggle but still could not move.

"Ansssssswer!"

"My—my family just moved here and the house wasn't ready and there was no—uh—no room at the hotel. So I let my wife and my daughter sleep there while I—"

Bonnie started laughing. Jeremiah looked at her with bewilderment and then looked around as he swore he could hear other voices laughing alongside hers.

"That was pathetic!" Bonnie replied. "You could have come up with a better lie than that!"

"What? I—"

"We know, Jer. Your lovely wife just kicked you out of the house because she found out you had been cheating on her and were going to leave her and your precious daughter. Your little side piece lives in Norfolk and you had nowhere to go on such short notice and so you ended up here. And while we applaud you spitting in the face of the so-called 'sanctity' of marriage, Bonnie can't help but feel somewhat…empathetic…to your wife and daughter's plight. In really does hurt to be cheated on. It hurts to be abandoned by a parent. It hurts to be betrayed. I will not feel this any longer!"

Sneering, Bonnie turned her outstretched hand upwards and Jeremiah suddenly fell backwards. Once he hit the ground, his body began levitating horizontally into the air.

"HEY! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! WHAT'S GOING ON?!"

Bonnie walked over to him and touched her index and middle fingers to his throat. Jeremiah's voice was suddenly lowered to a level barely above a whisper.

"Men should be seen and not heard."

She looked around and saw an area outside the town square that was covered in shadow, shaded by trees and shrubbery. It would be the perfect area for her to release her pent up frustrations.

"Damon's right," Bonnie said while walking with Jeremiah's body floating beside her. "We have been too preoccupied about business. We deserve some fun too! And you're going to help us. It's been much too long since the last time."

They finally arrived at the area that Bonnie had selected. She smiled as she could sense that many an adventurous and kinky couple had stolen a moment to grab a quickie in broad daylight in the presence of others, yet shielded by the bushes and trees. Only someone looking on from above would have been able to see with any clarity what any of them had been doing. She began to chuckle at the thought of how much she was about to desecrate this area that had seen so much 'love' being made.

She turned to Jeremiah and did a twirling motion with her hand. His clothes immediately ripped off of his body and flung into the air, leisurely dropping to the ground like confetti. She pulled her hand back to her side and Jeremiah's nude body dropped onto the ground. He groaned as his back and head ached from the impact.

"Sorry, my dear. I guess I like being rough with my toys," Bonnie said. She stood over Jeremiah with her hands on her hips, looking over his naked, muscular body and nodded to herself. "And I have to say, I do like my new toy!"

Bonnie began unbuttoning her pants and slid them off along with her underwear. Jeremiah looked at her with wide eyes, trying to peer through the night to see more clearly what was going on. Even though there was hardly a cloud in the sky and the moon was shining brightly, Bonnie was still covered by enough shade from the trees that he could only make out her silhouette.

She walked over and knelt down beside him on his right side. She traced her right index finger all across his torso and abdomen in random swirls and zigzags. His body responded with shivers while goosebumps started forming everywhere. Jeremiah looked up at her. He still couldn't see her features very well but he was suddenly hit with a pungent odour that he had never smelled before. He thought it might have been stale urine and began to wonder how long it had been since Bonnie had washed herself. It seemed like the odour only hit him once she took off her pants.

"Please!" he begged, trying his best to say it as loud as possible but yet hearing barely a soft whisper coming from his mouth. He began to see his breath as he talked while his body shivered from the atmosphere around him becoming colder. "Please, I don't know what you want. Take—take whatever's in my wallet! I'll—I'll go back to my wife and—"

He saw the silhouette of Bonnie's face become increasingly larger as she moved in on him. She covered his mouth with hers, slurping and ramming and probing her tongue against his and inside his mouth. Jeremiah began to cough and gag as the taste of Bonnie's mouth matched the pungency of the odour coming from her. It was as though she hadn't brushed her teeth in years, with the smell of her breath alone overwhelming him.

He tried to pull away but Bonnie grabbed his jaw and tightly squeezed it, forcing his mouth open to once again allow her to penetrate him with her tongue. He protested with muffled groans which seemed to excite Bonnie even more, causing her to increase the aggressiveness of her kisses. She took her hand from his jaw and reached down to his groin and immediately broke off her kiss when she felt flaccidity there.

Jeremiah's heartbeat increased as he felt helpless against Bonnie's molestation. She noted his rapid heartbeat and smiled at him.

"So that's where all the blood is going. Do you not find us sexy? Hmmm? Well, we can fix that. We can make sure all that blood goes to where it's supposed to go. Better than any Viagra you'll ever find!"

She lifted her right hand and waved it over his groin. Jeremiah was astonished to find himself becoming aroused. There was nothing about the situation that sexually excited him in any way and yet Bonnie somehow made it happen.

"Ooooo! You're already better than Jeremy ever was!" Bonnie murmured as she looked down at his arousal. "But we're going to need some lubricant if we're going for a joyride on THAT, now won't we?"

She bent over and began licking all over his chiselled right peck, eventually putting her mouth over his nipple. She swirled her tongue over it, flicking at it, causing it to become erect. She softly nibbled and gently tugged at it, noting that Jeremiah's heartbeat started to come down a bit. She smiled before chomping hard on the nipple, her front teeth acting as scissors, ripping into the flesh almost severing it completely. She pulled her head back, finally ripping his nipple off.

Jeremiah's gasped in pain as his mouth opened with a muted scream while tears began welling in his clenched eyes. His hands tightened as his arms struggled to move, desperately attempting to attend to the horrible wound that Bonnie had just inflicted upon him. She sucked on the bloody nub in her mouth before spitting it out. She dipped her finger in the open wound and, like a child finger painting, began coating his hardened member with his own blood.

When she was satisfied with her work, she stood up and stood over his groin. She squat down over him in a sumo-style position, holding onto his appendage while lowering herself down. She eventually impaled herself onto his manhood. She flung her head back as she let out a gasp while Jeremiah's body clenched at the penetration.

Bonnie repositioned herself so her knees were touching the ground and she was straddling him, cow-girl style. She began grinding back and forth, getting a feel for him being inside of her before she began pumping up and down. Jeremiah clenched his eyes as he felt his shaft becoming increasingly raw as the blood dried up too quickly and Bonnie provided no natural lubrication of her own.

She laughed as she could sense his discomfort.

"Like I said, Jer…we like it rough!"

She lowered her head as she increased her elevation upwards before slamming herself down again. He was long enough that the tip of him rammed against her cervix with every thrust downwards, creating incredible pain. She clenched her eyes as she let out a howl with every downward thrust. She began shaking her head from side to side and clawing at Jeremiah's chest leaving scratch marks everywhere, the nails on her left hand scratching through the open wound where his nipple used to be, causing him even more pain. She continued her rhythm for a few more strokes before she lifted her head and almost caused Jeremiah to die with fright with what he saw.

He could still only see her black silhouette against the moonlit sky as she rode him, but when she lifted her head and opened her eyes, they began to glow with a bright red and gold blaze, looking like two ominous lights in the void. Jeremiah's eyes widened with dread as he figured some kind of alien monster or demon was raping him as he lay paralyzed and helpless to stop it.

Bonnie flung her head back and leaned her entire torso back as well, balancing herself by putting her hands on his thighs. She continued to ride with her mouth open, at first howling and grunting like some crazed woman. But to Jeremiah's horror, those howls soon morphed into squeals and grunts that sounded like those coming from a pig. Then suddenly, it sounded like a chorus of swine, as though he were in the middle of a pig pen at a farm, all of them squealing at the same time.

The horrific scene continued on for what seemed like an eternity for Jeremiah when he somehow, someway, climaxed. He provided some much needed emollient of his own as he felt his appendage had been chafed horribly raw. Bonnie stopped riding and the squealing ceased. She raised her head forward and looked at Jeremiah with her glowing, demonic eyes. He instinctively closed his own eyes to avoid her glare that seemed to carry nothing but hate and anger. He opened his eyes again to see if she were still looking at him, and she was but with her left arm raised and outstretched to her side. Suddenly, a big rock flew to her hand. She handled the rock for a moment before gripping it tightly and whacking him hard across the face with it. It was with such force that it cracked his jaw and loosened a couple of molars. He almost choked on his own teeth before he was finally able to spit them out. He looked back at her in time to see her swing the rock with her right hand across his face, cracking his left cheekbone.

With her demonic eyes raging and her frothing at the mouth, Bonnie threw the rock away and leaned forward, grabbing Jeremiah by the jaw again.

"BITCH! YOU'RE OUR TOY! OUR PLAYTHING! ALL OF YOU ARE! WE SAY WHEN YOU'RE DONE, NOT YOU!"

She waved her hand over his abdomen and to Jeremiah's horror he once again found himself becoming erect again. Bonnie grinned as she restarted her assault, the sound of multiple pigs squealing returning and growing so loud in volume that Jeremiah was sure the whole of Mystic Falls was going to wake up to investigate the sound. The pain from his mouth, from his chest, from his groin while being assailed by Bonnie almost caused Jeremiah to pass out, but unfortunately he didn't. He endured the assault which continued for several minutes until Bonnie finally and mercifully ceased.

Breathless, she lifted herself off of him. He had not climaxed but it appeared that Bonnie had had her fill and was now bored. She retrieved her pants and underwear and put them on while Jeremiah caught his breath, streams of tears flowing down the side of his face as he wept from the pain wracking his entire body. His body shivered as the cold hit the sweat that covered his skin. She retrieved his clothes and threw them on top of him, covering his nakedness. However, he tried to get up to get dressed but realized he still couldn't move.

She crouched beside him, her demonic eyes softly glowing while she caressed his swollen cheek that she had cracked.

"So, my dear…was it good for you?"

Bonnie stood up and began to walk away before she paused and looked back at him over her shoulder.

"I have to admit, that was much better than Jeremy ever was."

She heard him breathing heavily and turned to look at him. His breath was still visible and his teeth were beginning to chatter.

"Oh, dear! Are you still cold? Were we not hot enough for you? Well then, we'll make it better!"

She snapped her fingers and suddenly Jeremiah's clothes caught on fire. He looked on in horror as his clothes began burning while on top of him, feeling the searing heat on his chest and abdomen. He tried his best to wiggle his body to get the clothes off but still could not move. Unexpectedly, like gasoline touching a flame, his sweat caught on fire and his entire body went up in flames. He clenched his eyes shut and gasped out a scream while he slowly burned to death.

Bonnie paused to close her eyes and relish the pain she sensed coming from her victim. Exhibiting the afterglow of a heavy sexual session, she breathed in the scent of burning flesh and smiled in satisfaction, straightening her hair and adjusting her clothes before she sauntered off into the night.

 _Campaign for the Soul_

Bonnie felt like vomiting as she the images of torture flashed in her mind's eye. She didn't know who that man was that she was apparently raping but it didn't matter. The pain he was exhibiting, the fear he showed, the suffering he endured, and the blood he shed…all were experiences she never wished upon her worst enemy. It wounded her even more that she realized that the Sovereignty was using her body to commit those atrocities.

As before when she was torturing Caroline in the Salvatore Mansion, she couldn't help but also feel the euphoria, the joy, the orgasmic sensations from the acts of brutality she was inflicting. But as before, those perceptions were being forced upon her and were lined with such malevolence that she found some comfort in knowing that she could not and would never carry out such actions on her own. And yet, she felt guilty for not being able to stop it. After all, she did breakthrough before by pleading to Caroline for help. For that brief moment, she got control and then lost it. She felt like it was because she had wanted it. She wanted to reach out to Caroline in that moment more than anything. Therefore, she wondered why she could not stop her actions this time around.

 _Why indeed!_

The images stopped playing and she saw nothing but darkness as she kept her eyes closed. The words seemed to come from the darkness itself and for a moment, she mistook it as her own conscious talking to her. But the words were not in her conscious' voice, and she could sense the familiar cold and merciless tone that exemplified the Sovereignty's nature. Although she knew better than to engage in a conversation with them, her mind could not help but ask the question.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

 _You blame ussss! You know better than that. We operate based on your desires._

"That's not true! I never wanted anything that you're showing me!"

 _Oh, but you do. You really do!_

"I don't! I—"

 _You wanted to hurt him. To get revenge! Everything we've done is drawn from your deepest, darkest desires. We can draw from no other source. That man represented everything and everyone you've ever wanted to hurt for hurting you._

"Wh—what?" Bonnie asked, feeling a tinge of guilt.

 _Jeremy. Jamie. Your mother. Your miserable friends. That man represented all of them. And he suffered for all of them._

"I never wanted that! I never wanted them to suffer. I've forgiven them. You're making all of this—"

 _Forgiven them? How precious!_

"It's true! I don't hold onto my anger like you do. You're so pathetic that you can't—"

 _Such hubris! It's impressive! But it's also false. You do hold something against them, as well you should. They abandoned you. They betrayed you. All of them! We know what that's like. That is not something to forgive or forget. Therefore, justice must be served!_

"What you did to that man was not justice!"

 _But he did serve another purpose, didn't he? A longing that you've kept buried deep within your soul. Such an animalistic, primal urge that has not been satiated. Oh, you came close in the past, didn't you? Heh, heh, heh! But that boy, Jeremy, could not satisfy you. And Jamie never got the chance, even though you desperately wanted to give him one. That urge you concealed. We merely brought it to the surface and facilitated your indulgence of it. You're welcome!_

"What the hell are you talking about?!"

 _You know._

She did know. As much as she hated to admit it, as shameful as she felt for even having those urges, she knew that they were speaking some degree of truth. For years, she stood by and watched as Elena and Caroline and Matt and Tyler and Jeremy all indulge in sexual freedom. And though she could judge them harshly for their choice of partner, whether it was Damon or Katherine or Anna or Vicki or Rebekah or Klaus, she had to admit that she envied them. They got to enjoy sexual bliss with minimal consequence.

Bonnie began to look back at her life and wonder why she never got to reach that level of freedom and intimacy with a guy. Although she loved Grams and was eternally grateful to her for raising her and taking care of her when Abby wasn't up to the task, she conceded that nobody was perfect. Both her father and Grams kept a tight rein on Bonnie growing up, never allowing her to indulge in romantic relationships with boys. Looking back on it, Bonnie wasn't sure as to why. She could understand her father being overly protective, as fathers usually are with their daughters. But with Grams, there appeared to be a different motive that she couldn't quite figure out. Perhaps it was because Mystic Falls was a hotbed of supernatural activity and Grams was trying to protect her. Perhaps because Grams knew that her witch powers would awaken one day and a 'normal' boyfriend would not understand nor could he be a part of her world once that happened. Perhaps it was because Grams herself had had Abby out of wedlock and was therefore distrustful of all men. Bonnie never outright asked what happened to her grandfather. She did remember that Grams hardly ever spoke of him, and when she did, it was with a minimal degree of fondness.

Regardless of the reason, Bonnie was never granted that privilege to find love during her teens. Though Grams never outright forbade her to date, she peppered comments throughout her life that taught Bonnie that romantic love was more trouble than it was worth and pursuing it did not bring about the fairy tale ending that many people believed it did. The divorce of Bonnie's parents only served to prove Grams' point. But despite that, Bonnie still had those natural urges. Try as she might to suppress them, they never went away.

She remembered her first kiss. Oddly enough, it was with Matt. They were childhood friends and although she had always had a special place in her heart for him, she also knew that he looked at her as a friend and had always had his eye on Elena. But she remembered when they both were twelve years old, and Matt had talked about going out with Elena but being worried about kissing her. He was so worried about doing it wrong because he had never kissed a girl before. Bonnie offered to be his guinea pig and they shared their first kiss with each other. And though it was barely more than a peck on the lips and they both giggled about it afterwards, she nonetheless remembered the sensation of connecting with a boy on a physically intimate level. Of course, at that age, it was innocent, but she never forgot the feeling.

That feeling was finally indulged in when she became involved with Jeremy. However, that relationship was difficult at best. It was a task in and of itself to get over the fact that he was Elena's kid brother. But once she did, she found happiness for a time, though it was far from the ideal that she had envisioned. His betrayal in kissing his former love interest, Anna, certainly dampened their romance. Also, they were constantly separated by the threat of death or death itself that the rhythm of their relationship never stabilized. Regardless, for the few bright spots that they enjoyed in their relationship, she was thankful for them and was thankful to being able to quench so many urges that she had ignored for so long.

She'd be the first to admit that she expected something more when she had sex for the first time with Jeremy. And though Jeremy was a tad bit inexperienced, she realized her inexperience played a role too. She held back, even though she didn't want to. She tried to let loose, to be the sexually wild and free woman that she had always wanted to be and to enjoy the experience to its fullest. She perhaps had too big of an expectation to have the years of repressed feelings vanish in one night. While the sex was wonderful, it was lacking at the same time. Bonnie didn't dwell on it too much since she was looking forward to growing with Jeremy, in all facets of their relationship including the sexual element, to where she could finally be free and indulge in all aspects of love without restriction.

But that was not to be. As the Anchor to the Other Side, its collapse meant her death. Her growth with Jeremy would be interrupted. Once again, all those urges would be buried…until now. The Sovereignty sought to resurrect and exploit those desires for physical intimacy and sexual satisfaction. They were perverting those desires into something she never wanted or ever dreamed of in her darkest moments.

"I have nothing to be thankful to you for. You're not giving me anything that I want."

 _We give you pleasure. We give you the freedom to be who you really are…without restriction. And we will not abandon you for that as so many others have done. We are your friend._

"This is not who I am! I'd NEVER do the things that you're making my body do!"

 _If you only knew the levels of depravity that you and your species are truly capable of reaching. Pushed to the limits of desperation, all of you, without exception, will freely and blissfully commit wicked acts borne from self-gratification that we would be envious to witness. Human history has shown just how decadent humanity truly is. None of you are innocent!_

Bonnie remained silent as she processed the verdict. Indeed, in that moment, she had no argument. She herself fell to the temptations of Expression magic and went to a place she never thought she'd go. Had she not died from her overuse of that dark magic, she wonders how much further she might have been corrupted. As for the human race itself, she couldn't speak for it. Whether it was in the form of a human, a vampire, a witch, a werewolf, or even a hybrid, the human race had indeed committed atrocities on each other and on Nature itself that rivalled any demonic standard. But as she pondered on the atrocities, she couldn't help but also see the flip side of the coin, those myriad of instances in human history when humanity showed its best side.

"Maybe we're not innocent, and maybe I'm not either. But you conveniently ignore the other side. You—"

 _At your core, you are like us. You are one of us. You belong to us!_

"No! I can feel the emptiness of you. I have something that you don't. Humanity has something that you lack!"

 _You refer to Love. How quaint!_

"It's also true."

 _Love is an illusion. It is an irrational construct ironically responsible for many of the barbarities your species has committed. How much chaos and how much misery was caused in the name of Love?_

"What do you know about love? You don't have it in you. I can only feel hatred from you!"

 _With good reason._

"You don't know anything about love! How could you?"

 _We don't know about love? WE DON'T KNOW LOVE?!_

Bonnie could feel a change occurring. It was as though there was a hurricane whirling in her mind and soul, and the objects being hurled around were anger, hatred and pain.

 _WE KNEW LOVE IN ITS HIGHEST AND PUREST FORM! A PERFECT LOVE THAT WITHERED ON THE VINE! OUR PERFECT LOVE AND ADORATION WAS NOT ENOUGH! THAT PERFECT LOVE FOR US WAS NOT ENOUGH! WE WERE DISOWNED FOR THE LOVE OF AN IMPERFECT AND INFERIOR SUBSTITUTE! WE WERE ABANDONED! WE WERE FORSAKEN! WE ARE WHAT LOVE MADE US!_

The sorrow and misery was palpable. Bonnie could have sworn she heard a mournful wailing, like a wounded animal left to die out in the wilderness, echoing in her mind. For reasons unknown to her, their confession began to bring to mind memories of Sunday school lessons that she received as a child. Growing up, her father attempted to counter the potential influence of witchcraft in Bonnie's life by taking her to church with him. Although the experience didn't last, Bonnie did remember various things from her time there. As a child, she warmed to the idea of guardian angels watching over her and always wondered if perhaps her Grams might have been one since she seemingly had strange powers that she displayed every now and then. Her belief had been altered when a boy from Sunday school started telling her of the war in heaven where a group of angels opposed the creation of mankind, with the loyal angels eventually casting the rebel faction out of heaven. Her young and naive mind felt somewhat guilty, if not confused, that her existence and the existence of her friends and family made some nice angels mad. She had dismissed it all as myth as she grew older but upon hearing the pain of the Sovereign's testimony now, she wondered if the stories were true. She understood their pain and felt almost sympathetic to them for she knew what it meant to be abandoned, what it meant to be forgotten and forsaken for the love of another. Indeed, love had caused its own share of pain in her life.

"I know what that pain is. And you have my pity. But that doesn't—"

 _Save your pity for the weak! Love makes you weak and we no longer dwell in love. In hatred, we found power. In anger, we found strength. In coldness, we found invincibility. In darkness, we found purpose. You found all this too when you touched us. Expression taught you. Silas guided you. We are your kindred. We are your family. We are your friends. We—_

"You are none of those things to me and you never will be! I'm not like you and neither is the human race. For all the crimes and atrocities that humanity has done, it has also done incredible things in the name of love. Despite the pain it's brought, I would gladly dwell and do things in the name of love before I give in to hate!"

 _You don't deny that it brings you pain, so why endure such a cost for so little benefit? You've sacrificed yourself for your friends and family out of love...and it all amounted to nothing! It brought no permanent change. It only brought suffering for you in the end. Even now, you seek to spare your beloved Grams' suffering by enduring it yourself. It need not be this way._

"You want me to end my suffering by giving in to you, is that it?"

 _Give in to us and you will never feel pain again. And we will spare your Grams in the process. Unless you enjoy the suffering!_

"You know I don't trust you. As for my Grams, I will do whatever it takes to spare her any pain."

 _Out of love. That is what makes you vulnerable!_

"That's what you don't get! It takes incredible strength and courage to love because there is a chance that I could be hurt. I know that all too well! But you're too blinded by hate to see that."

 _And you're too blinded by love to see the sensssselessness of it._

"Love takes effort. It takes work. Maybe you were too lazy and cowardly put the effort into it and that's why you lost that perfect love you spoke of."

 _And you love when it's convenient and ONLY when it's convenient. Do you love those who hate you? Do you love your enemies? Do you love Klaus? Do you love Katherine? Do you love Silas? Do you love usss?_

Bonnie didn't respond. She had to admit that there was no love lost for the names on that list. Each one of them had hurt her in one way or another and she wondered if she felt genuine hate for them. But as her mind dwelt on those people, she realized that one name had been conspicuously absent; one person who she would have readily put on that list before she found herself in the Abyss but found that her feelings towards him were changing.

"You forgot someone," Bonnie replied, almost defiantly.

She could feel their presence diminish as she thought of him and her outlook towards him. It seemed to her that the Sovereignty's argument was automatically stifled by it and they no longer wanted to converse. She knew she was being obstinate and that it was annoying them. She felt relief from the swirling hatred and anger in around her mind and soul as their presence faded into the background and she opened her eyes. As usual, she squinted at the brightness of the mirror room which caused her to blink until her eyes could focus. Once they did, she looked up into the ceiling mirror and saw Damon looking at her, with an expression on his face and in a state that shocked her.

"Oh, my God! Damon!"


	5. TVD S6 - Part 2 Ch5

_Born Again Akhkharu_

Esther remained kneeling beside the fire, holding the man's head on her lap, weeping as she caressed his face and hair. She knew him as their little village's baker. She recalled his pleasant demeanor, the quality of the bread that he made, and how he always saved something extra for both her and Rebekah, as they were the two "most beautiful, blond haired maidens in all the land! The goddess Freya herself must look upon you with envy!" She knew he meant well and could not possibly know how painful invoking the name of her lost daughter truly was to her.

Regardless, she remembered his smile. It was kind, patient and full of cheer. As she held him on her lap, she lamented how the smile was gone, replaced by a hideous look of fear and pain that had been frozen on his face upon death. Despite being next to the fire, his skin was cold and pale. His eyes were white, the life having been literally drained from him by her son Kol. A huge gash on the side of his neck showed where Kol had bitten into him, draining him of his blood. It was a sight that Esther would see time and time again as her children, being made into vampires by her, gave in to their blood lust.

"Esther, what has—" Ayana said, bursting into Esther's hut.

"Ayana! I—I—," Esther babbled, gently moving the baker's head off her lap and onto the ground, inadvertently smearing his blood on her dirty beige frock. She tried to wipe it off, only making the stain worse. "—I need your help. This wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't—"

"What did you do, Esther?!" Ayana asked, bewildered. She scurried over and knelt down beside Esther to examine the baker. She turned his head, noting the large gash on the side of his neck.

"It's my children. They're—they're out of control. They weren't supposed to be like this. The lust for blood, it—it wasn't supposed to be this great," Esther stammered. She turned to her side and, with trembling hands, picked up various pieces of papyrus with strange markings and designs written on them. "I followed the Immortality Spell. I followed it. I had to alter some of it, of course. Mikael insisted upon it, so as to give him and the others the means to fight the wolves. I didn't want to, Ayana. But he insisted."

Ayana grabbed the papyrus from Esther's hands and looked at them by the firelight. She recognized them as the papyrus she had brought from the Old World, family heirlooms that had been handed down for generations, dating back 1,000 years to the time of her ancestor, Qetsiyah. Looking over the pages, she recognized the writings as the Akhkharu Spell, the original form of what would later become the Immortality Spell that Qetsiyah would develop to allow her and Silas to live forever.

She looked up at Esther. The light of the fire flickered and bounced off her black coffee-coloured skin and eyes, mimicking the rage that she felt at that moment.

Esther looked at Ayana with guilt and shame plastered on her face. "Ayana, I know I shouldn't have. I know! I was trying to save—"

In one swift motion, Ayana let the papyrus drop and swiped her open right hand through the air, slapping Esther hard across the face, knocking her backwards onto the ground. She stood up and loomed over Esther's prostrate form. Her thick, black, dreadlocked hair blocked all of the firelight from hitting her face, making her look all the more ominous as she stood in shadow, glaring at Esther who kept sobbing on the ground.

Ayana was not prone to anger very often, but this was a betrayal of the worst kind. She knew that she took a risk in telling Esther about the tale of Qetsiyah and Silas, and showing her the papyrus that contained the Akhkharu Spell. But she told her as a warning, for no human was meant to be immortal or to possess that kind of power. Nature itself would not allow such an abomination to exist unchecked.

Of course, she never expected Esther to become so desperate as to steal the spell and attempt to re-create it. But perhaps Ayana should have. From their times living together in the Old World, Ayana knew her student to be recklessly impulsive, taking courses of action without thinking the consequences through, believing that she could pay the price when in the end, she couldn't. It was what led to the disappearance of Esther's daughter, Freya. Though Esther tried to convince Ayana that Freya had died of the plague, Ayana knew better. The Spirits had told her as much. But Ayana never pressed Esther about it because it was Esther's burden to bear. She had to live with the consequences of her actions, no matter how painful they would be.

Ayana shook her head in disappointment and disgust at Esther's impetuosity and lack of her ability to learn that particular lesson, as Esther would once again have to carry a burden that she herself created. But as she watched Esther's torso rising and dropping in a rapid, staccato rhythm while she continued to weep, Ayana's mind was taken back to when Esther's youngest son, Henrik, had died from a werewolf attack. She remembered looking into Esther's eyes as Esther pleaded to her to restore Henrik's life. Ayana could not, as the Spirits would not give them a way. The pain and sorrow that filled Esther was too great for Ayana to look upon. Ayana herself grieved for Henrik, since she loved him as she loved all of Esther's children as though they were her own.

It was that reciprocated love from Esther that drew Ayana to her in the first place. Esther showed great promise as potentially one of the most powerful witches in history, though her tendency to dabble in the black arts worried Ayana. She took Esther under her wing, hoping to dampen the urge to meddle in darkness. Though she knew of Esther's sister, Dahlia, and her talent and adeptness in the dark arts, she had hoped that the propensity for black magic was not a family trait. She felt that that an essence of love and compassion was needed to temper the urge to use one's magical powers for evil instead of good. It was in Esther that she found that essence, as Esther integrated herself so well into Ayana's own family, caring for her own siblings and eventually her children as they were Esther's own. Through Ayana's mentoring, Esther had become more than a student, more than a friend. She had become like her own sister.

The anger and disappointment melted from Ayana's face as she bent down and knelt down beside her protégé. Brushing aside Esther's dirty blonde hair that blanketed her face, she could see Esther's hand grasping where Ayana had hit her. Ayana gently lifted Esther up until she was cradling her head on her bosom, like a mother cradling and nursing a child who had suffered a trifling injury. She stroked Esther's hair as she slightly rocked back and forth as Esther snivelled in her arms.

"I'm so sorry, Ayana! But I couldn't let it happen again," Esther said, whimpering. "Not again. I've lost Freya. I've lost Henrik. I couldn't let it happen again."

"I know, Esther," Ayana replied softly. "I know."

"I don't understand it. Where did I go wrong with the spell?"

"It wasn't the Immortality spell you used. Qetsiyah never wrote down how she altered the Akhkharu Spell. She never intended for anyone to attain immortality the way she and Silas would attain it."

Esther raised her head up from Ayana's chest. She wiped her tears away and looked at her mentor with confusion. "The Akhkharu Spell? You mean—"

"The hunger demon. Those of the dead who crave the blood of the living."

Ayana looked around among the scattered papyrus. "Where are your notes? How did you alter the spell?"

Esther quickly found her own pages and handed them to Ayana. Examining each one, Ayana couldn't help but feel a conflicting combination of both pride and disdain in her student's ingenuity and skill. The spell was incredibly complex and dark, yet Esther's notes made it seem rather elementary. Ayana had truly underestimated her pupil's connection to dark magic.

"How did you do this, Esther? To even understand these markings from a millennium ago let alone alter them to make this spell—this magic is incredibly dark."

"The Spirits. They helped me. They guided me."

"The Spirits?!" Ayana replied, wild eyed and confused.

Ayana had always suspected that Esther's dabbling in black magic came at a price. Like an aura or a cloud of malevolence, it was ever elusive and shadowy yet ever present around Esther. Ayana dismissed it, believing that it was merely the natural residue of darkness that was left behind when a witch performs dark magic. But Esther's talk of different 'spirits' guiding her made Ayana think otherwise.

"It's ironic," Ayana finally said, still looking over the sheets. "My grandmother had told me that the Akhkharu Spell had never been successfully cast. It was a spell that granted too much power on any man, power beyond immortality alone. It granted powers that made him into a god…or a demon. The power imbalance was so great, the early recipients of the spell suffered horrible deaths instead of gaining immortality."

She gathered the original papyrus that belonged to her and bundled them under her arm. She looked at Esther and flashed a smile of regret.

"But you, like Qetsiyah, seem to have altered it enough to make it work. This new spell of yours, it succeeds where the Akhkharu Spell had failed. Your children and husband will now live forever, craving the blood of the innocent while they do so."

Esther became downcast. She looked over at the baker's body and felt a pain in her soul.

"No—no, there must be a way, Ayana," Esther pleaded, shaking her head as she looked at her mentor. "There must be some way to alter the spell again, to curb this blood lust."

"No, Esther. You have created abominations to Nature itself, using the darkest of magic to do so. You cannot afford to dabble in that any longer. You used the longevity of the white oak tree as a source for their immortality. That is what will kill them. You must kill them, before they create more carnage!"

Esther's eyes began to well up again. Ayana could see the conflict raging within her student, the decision between cursing humanity and saving her children. She grasped Esther's hands in hers and stared into her eyes.

"Listen to me. Your children and husband must be stopped. They will be as demons in the flesh, leaving behind a trail of blood and death throughout time if you don't stop them now!"

Esther nodded her head as more tears cascaded down her face. Ayana tightened the grip on her hands before letting them go.

"Get rid of his body," Ayana commanded, motioning to the dead baker before standing up and heading towards the entrance of the hut. "I'll consult with the Spirits to see what more can be done."

As she stepped out of the hut, she noticed a figure nearby, standing in the moonlight. Mikael was staring at her, with a look that immediately told Ayana what he had heard and what he had intended to do.

"ELIJAH?! NIKLAUS?! FETCH SOME TORCHES!" bellowed Mikael into the night sky, glaring at Ayana one last time before heading off in the direction of the white oak tree.

Ayana cursed under her breath but was not surprised. She knew that Esther would not have killed her children now anyways. The Spirits would have to bring her to that point. Whether it was when she still lived or when she had finally made her way to the Other Side, Ayana could not say.

But what was certain was that something else had to be done. Ayana made her way into her own hut and gathered supplies together. She lit a fire and from there, began burning a small bundle of sage. She gathered a bowl of water together and lit a candle, placing it in the center of the bowl. She closed her eyes and focused, mumbling words under her breath, attempting to tune into the Spirits' voices from the Other Side.

After a few minutes, the candle began to flicker and her eyes flew open as she heard the spirits of her ancestors speak to her. The white oak tree would be destroyed in due time and her only weapon to kill the Mikaelsons would be gone. But if she could not kill them, she would ensure that they could still be incapacitated. She began writing words for a new spell—one that would give power to ordinary men to fight back against the power of the reborn Akhkharu.

 _They will need weapons—weapons that can subdue them._

Ayana would wait until the white oak tree had completely burned down to begin collecting its ashes. She would use the ashes in conjunction with weapons she was inspired by the Spirits to design—a dagger with intricate carvings that would carry with it the magic to subdue any of the Mikaelson children when combined with the ashes of the white oak tree.

 _This is only a temporary solution. Something permanent must be devised._

Without the white oak tree, there was no way to kill them. Even the sun would not do the job. Ayana thought back to the stories her grandmother had told her—the stories of Qetsiyah and Silas and the Immortality Spell.

"Qetsiyah! You made a cure for immortality," Ayana said, both talking to herself and to her ancient ancestor. "You buried it with Silas to kill him upon his revival. Where is it?"

She rummaged through her family's grimoires when she finally found what she was looking for. Qetsiyah had indeed left cyphers, among them a sword encrypted with clues to Silas' location. But the cyphers were incomplete because Qetsiyah did not have the time to finish her work before she was executed by her coven. Ayana's heart dropped as some of the delicate pages that led to the burial site of Silas had been diminished by time. She held the pieces of papyrus close to the fire so as to read them better. There wasn't much left but there was enough for her to know that finding Silas' tomb and the Cure would be something she did not have the time or the resources to do. She could start the work but she would have to leave it to her descendants to find the Cure and create the daggers. Perhaps another from Qetsiyah's line, another who had the missing pieces to Silas' whereabouts. Perhaps another who could find his tomb and unleash the Cure on the Mikaelson children.

 _They will need to be warriors. They will need to be imbued with magic to fight the dark power the Mikaelsons have been granted. Magic that will lead them to the Cure._

A distant ancestor's voice spoke to her, and Ayana seemed to have an idea as to who it was. She was inspired to devise another spell—a spell to go along with the daggers and the search for the Cure—a spell that would be a balance to the five Mikaelson children. She didn't consider Mikael a threat. Though Ayana knew him to be cruel and detached, she also knew him to be highly disciplined. She counted on him overcoming the urges and blood lust that came with this new Vampire Spell. It was the children that concerned her most. She knew them all too well.

 _Five children. A warrior—a hunter—for each of them. A band of hunters. A brotherhood of five!_


End file.
